


Prince to my Beautiful

by Lenakey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bickering, Creature Fic, Creature Severus Snape, Descent into Madness, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Fluff and Humor, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Human/Vampire Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, Light-Hearted, M/M, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Masturbation, Mates, Mythical Beings & Creatures, No Bashing, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Not main pairing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Pining Harry, Polyamory, Protective Harry, References to Depression, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Scheming Dumbledore, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Slow Burn, Smut, Snarky Severus Snape, Stream of Consciousness, Underage Drinking, Vampire Severus Snape, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 28
Words: 126,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenakey/pseuds/Lenakey
Summary: I am sick. I couldn’t even tell you what it is about that book that hooks me like that. Like an addict to his favourite drug. Like a moth to a flame. It burns me, I desire it, I can’t indulge in it as often as I’d like.Do you remember that book during year six? The one Harry slept with? The one he obsessed over? Maybe he did more than just sleep with it...Smut turned into loads of plot. AU- sixth year. Harry can't deal with his sexuality, the mounting pressures and expectations of being the chosen one. When he has a nervous breakdown, Snape comes to the rescue and Dumbledore alters his method of waging this war. Amid growing attraction to the former potions master, Harry feels something's off with the man, which isn't helped by the presence of a mysterious stranger, claiming to help Snape. Of course, there's still Malfoy disappearing off the map, Harry's introduction into Order business and the wizarding world at the precipice of a looming war. Dubious allies and new opponents might force everyone to re-evaluate the way forward….[Trying to fix this messy year for all of us]
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/?, Draco Malfoy/?, Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 278
Kudos: 488





	1. Always

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a writing exercise in 1st Person POV but turned into...something else? A little weird? Quite adorable? I have no idea, I just wanted to share it with you. Now, almost ten months later, this turned into a plot monster. Surprisingly little smut and lots of pining.

One of the worst things about my insomnia is the waiting. I can never be sure once I retire to my four-poster bed in the evening, having brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas if it will be one of those nights. Sometimes I fall asleep almost instantly as soon as my head touches the pillow, my thoughts muddled by dreams or at times nightmares. Other times I close my eyes and promptly know that I won’t find any rest tonight. Insomnia cannot be bargained with, no matter how much I will my body to sleep, because I have an important test the next day, or a quidditch match, if my sleeplessness visits my fate is sealed.

I have become quite adept at dealing with sleepless nights. Once I know I won’t sleep I firstly close the curtains around my bed completely and put up silencing charms. I used to freak out Ron with my frequent bursts of insomnia- he can’t help it; he worries about me. But for over a year now I have been proficient in pretending to get a good night’s sleep whenever I go to bed. Silencing charms are so helpful with this, together with a certain nonchalance in the morning when I am asked about my nightly endeavors. I hate to lie but I have become quite good at it.

Second, you need to have access to tools to help pass the time. The hours between bedtime and morning are long and drag out even more when you watch your tempus spell all the time so it’s better to take your mind off it. I do not want to open my curtain for fear of waking up one of my roommates so I usually have some sweets stuffed somewhere under my pillow (no chocolate; they melt and it’s a pain to get it out of the sheets). I also used to get my hand on some quidditch magazines or a couple of detective novels that I snatched from Seamus. They are surprisingly entertaining, at least for the first three or four reads. But I guess everything becomes boring after many repetitions.

Except wanking, that’s always good, no matter how often you repeat it. The first two and a half years were quite hard on me with my insomnia: I had little to do except stare at the canopy of my bed and wait for the seconds to pass. I had not yet gotten my hand on Seamus’ old detective magazines and barely possessed many sweets. But in my third year I discovered wanking- by accident more or less.

Of course I had heard the other boys talk about jerking off now and then but found it hard to trust their fuss about it. What could be so fun about touching your prick? One evening I was in my bed, another sleepless night and I was tossing and turning on my sheets until I came to rest on my stomach. My own weight, as little as it is, pressed me into the mattress and when I moved just the tiniest it created a very pleasurable friction against my prick. Suffice to say I never stopped after that.

Yeah, I admit it: I am quite horny. In my defense I am sixteen years old so I guess it’s pretty normal. I know all the guys in my room wank. I mean, we put up silencing charms but sometimes you forget. It’s cool, we never mention it or mock someone. We are all in this together, one prick at a time.

Seamus is quite fond of morning wanks. He usually wakes up a couple of minutes early and then gets down to business. He is quite efficient and his fondling usually features a different girl every couple of weeks. I know from our communal showers that Seamus got the longest prick of all five of us. I checked. Sue me.

Ron enjoys quite extensive evening wanks, usually shortly after closing his curtains. I can almost imagine him settling into his sheets, pulling down his trousers and then grip his prick. He is the absolute worst with silencing charms, forgetting to put them on more often than not. He either has no shame at all and the idea of an audience arouses him or he is just careless. Knowing Ron it is likely a combination of both. It was fun the first couple of times but for almost a year now he groans out Hermione’s name every single time. Boy does that go old fast. I have been very diligent with my own silencing charms for a while now.

Dean has wet dreams mostly. I hear him moaning and thrashing in his sleep as he works up to his orgasm. For a while it was random girls but now he groans out Ginny’s name when he is coming. Makes sense, she is his girlfriend after all. I was mostly okay with it but now I am not so sure. Ginny is very attractive, with her red hair and brown eyes. And she is part of the Weasley family: I’d be lying if I denied that if I dream about my future- should I survive my final confrontation with Voldemort- I see myself as part of the Weasleys. Marrying Ginny would be a foul-proof way to get there but that only works if Ron does not kill me before, should I ever make a move on his sister.

Neville is the odd one out. I never hear him. Granted, that doesn’t mean he does not wank- all boys wank, I am sure of that- maybe he is just meticulous with silencing charms. Maybe even more than me. Or he wanks somewhere else. The greenhouse. He loves plants after all. Not like that you pervert. I hope he gets himself off now and then. It is relaxing and judging by how stressed and afraid Neville usually is, he deserves all the relaxation he can get. Then again, after last year in the department of mysteries Neville is showing more and more courage; that guy is a trouper. If he faces anybody but Professor Snape. Then he literally pees his pants. Poor Neville.

Back to me and my prick. I wank all the time. Sometimes to fall asleep, sometimes in the middle of the night and definitely several times when I face my insomnia. For the longest time I simply rutted against my mattress; I am still pretty fond of it. But in the years I experimented and have found there are so many great ways to get yourself off. Fist around your prick, kneading your balls, gently caressing the sensitive area behind your cock, recently more and more thrusting your fingers into your ass.

As I am doing right now. I can feel the way the muscles are clenching around my wet, saliva dipped finger as I pump my cock with the other hand. Up and down, my legs spread impossibly wide as I slowly work up to my orgasm. I can feel the blood rushing through my veins, the hectic thrumming of my heart and the shallow gasps that tumble out of my mouth. There are no names out of my mouth, I rarely think about anybody specific as I focus on my release. I just want to feel that rush, the sweet agony of my orgasm as it runs through my body and the pleasant apathy of the aftermath as I stare at the canopy of my bed. I seldom need anything else.

You don’t believe me? Okay I might have uttered a name once or twice. Fine, maybe more than twice. It might have been Oliver Wood in the first year of my wanking. On occasion. Not all the time. Then Cho. In my fourth year. Alternating with Cedric. But recently? Not much. Maybe I was thinking about Ginny a couple of times but it feels weird then. It’s times like these when I begin to doubt whether I should ever pursue her. I mean if we ever do get married, we are going to have sex, right? I have a feeling I might still wank then. Would I have to moan out her name as I come trembling, just barely keeping from thrusting up against the roof of my bed? Would it be cool to moan out a different name even if you are married to someone else? I doubt it.

As I snuggle into my sheets still filled by my endorphin high I begin to feel the weary fatigue of post-orgasmic bliss. It renders my extremities heavy, as if they are made of lead and for a short moment it feels as if I might fall asleep after all. It fades. It always does. I told you, I won’t find any sleep tonight. I made my peace with it after all these years.

Eventually, the feeling returns to my legs and I lazily pull out a package of crisps from under my pillow. As I munch them I longingly stare at the book to my right. _Advanced potion making._ I should have left it in my trunk, now I won’t be able to stop looking at it. Burning to touch it, open it, get lost in the annotations. I wonder how long I am going to last tonight. Yesterday I almost made it to twenty minutes before I faltered and greedily seized the old, beaten book. I try to tell myself that it’s fine but it is anything but. Hermione reads books in her bed all the time but that’s Hermione. The know-it-all. The devourer of books. She read _Hogwarts, a History_ several times for fucks sake! In her first year! There is no telling how many times she read it since then. Still, I have a feeling Hermione does not caress any book after wanking and hungrily devours it as if it makes her body shudder with more orgasmic throbbing.

I am sick. I couldn’t even tell you what it is about that book that hooks me like that. Like an addict to his favorite drug. Like a moth to a flame. It burns me, I desire it, I can’t indulge in it as often as I’d like. People would think I am weird if I carried it around all the time, cradled it while I have my breakfast in the great hall or took it with me on my broom during quidditch practice. They would think I lost my mind. Which would be hilarious now that I am for some reason popular and have girls pining after me. Girls, never guys. Nobody can ever see how I fuck my own fist as I press my face against the pages of that infernal book. I have never come that furiously before.

I need to be more careful with the book. Ron has been watching me, looking at me as if I lost my marbles. If he knew I dream about spilling my seed all over the damn book he would smack me over the head. Or take the book. Likely both. He is protective like that. Not that he has any vantage point to judge me. He was moaning Fleur’s name for months in our fourth year. His future sister in law. Who is messed up now?

Hermione thinks the book is cursed. She has been tormenting the Prince with all kinds of spells. Ehm, the book of course. Not the Prince. Why was I ever mentioning the smooth-talking, witty, talented, smart, sassy former owner of my potions textbook? I wasn’t, you did! You perv. I have a professional relationship with the Half-blood Prince. He assists me in potions, I laugh about his dark jokes. We are quite the team, he and I. I might have moaned something that could have sounded a tiny bit like _Prince_ while I was wanking. So what? It wasn’t that Prince. It was the other one. Look, a pixie!

Anywho, we were talking about my roommates wanking habits, not mine. They are not that strange. I bet people jerk off to all kinds of weird things. I don’t even know if the Prince is a girl or a boy. Okay, I am pretty sure he is a boy. Otherwise he would call himself a princess, duh! It’s not rocket science. Hermione only bangs on about it because she is nuts. And jealous of him. I am pretty sure he’s smarter than her. That pisses her off. I adore Hermione but she is a bit of a swot.

Ginny even suggested the potions book is anything like Riddle’s diary in second year. Wanting to seduce me with its suave writing. I wish. It’s just a book. That I am currently paging through. I check my tempus spell again. Twelve minutes. Damn! Look at his handwriting, it’s almost as messy as mine. But there is a purpose to it, an elegance even in the messiness, the way he talks about his potion-making process, how he comes to his conclusions. It’s beautiful. Why can’t anybody understand this?

I’ve never been much into potions; I mean what do you expect? For the first five years my teacher was Snape. He hates me, and sucks at teaching. I would give anything to be taught by my Half-blood Prince instead. He gets me. He is funny. Alright, sometimes he is a little mean but I get it. I don’t think he had many friends and most of the other students and even teachers were dimwits. The difference is the Prince punches up; Snape always punches down. Don’t believe me? Neville literally peed his pants twice in his first year during potion classes. Snape knew and it never made him stop the way he zeroed in on poor Neville. He only ever stopped to torment me. It’s okay, I can take it. Sometimes, when I get engrossed in my book I can imagine how it would be to make potions with the Prince. It would be fun, almost sensual. He is a poet, the way he talks about potions. Snape only ever sounds like that when he talks about the Dark Arts.

I am rereading the section about safety precautions. It’s one of my favorite parts. Apparently, the Prince did not deem this chapter important, he basically ignored it. Instead, on the margins there are annotations about other students. They are vicious but also hilarious. A couple of them he calls the brawnies. I have the feeling he did not get along with them well. Here, he describes their incompetence as they prepare the ingredients. As I said, it’s hilarious. It’s makes me chuckle. I have a feeling they are Gryffindors. Don’t misunderstand me, I love my house but it sounds suspiciously like us.

In the next bed I can hear Ron mutter in his sleep and then a low moan fills the room. Damn it, Dean is having one of his dreams again. I recast my silencing charm. Great, now I am horny again. I pull my hand into my trousers and grip my prick. Strange, it’s already fully hard, leaking a little from the tip. I lazily pump my fist around it, slowly moving up and down, pushing my foreskin away from the tip of my cock. The pre-come lubricates my movement as I caress the book page absent-mindedly. It’s so soft. I press my cheek against the page, my lips cover the handwriting of my Prince.

I imagine the book is him, he is lying by my side, his breath tickling my neck. I know next to nothing about him but I know if he were here, it would not matter how he looked, who he was, how big his cock was, I would assault his lips with mine and rut against his stomach until I squirt all my seed all over him. Then I would move down and close my mouth around his hardness; in my mind I am an expert in giving head and he writhes and thrashes under me as I greedily gulp down his come. I am hard again, just the sound of his voice arouses me and I once again rut against him, his hands in my hair as he viciously devours my mouth.

Fuck, just the thought makes me whimper with need as I move my lips over the page, tracing his scripture with the tip of my tongue. Thank god I recast my silencing charm. I don’t care anymore as I moan and shout his name over and over as I explode over my fist. Later, I lie there, exhausted, spent and press the book to my chest. I can feel the old, calloused cover against my shirt. Fuck it, I want to feel it against my skin. I tear off my top and hiss as I feel it against my nipples. This feels so good!

I am screwed, I know it. I can’t ever let him go now. My Prince. Just the thought makes me growl low in my throat. So many things suck right now but this book, and its author, ground me in a way nothing else can. Nothing can touch me as long as I have him by my side. Malfoy, Snape, Voldemort. My conflicted feelings about Ginny and the Weasleys. The impending doom on the horizon. There is a reason Dumbledore decided to teach me this year. I am not stupid. Whatever is coming is just around the corner. I have a feeling I won’t like it once it’s here.

The Prince is safe. He can’t ever hurt me; he is only a figment of my imagination. I realize that. He might have gone to school here a year ago, ten or fifty. I will never know most likely. A part of me needs him here so badly, wants to curl up against him in the darkness of my bed; the other part understands the impossibility of that ever happening makes him perfect for me. Right now. I long for him but also rejoice in the certainty that reality can never spoil my Prince. Most people are never as awesome as how we imagine them to be. Reality destroys fantasy all the time. Not my Prince. He is unscathed by all this.

I pull up the covers around my shoulders, still pressing the book against my chest. Fuck it, I might even sleep like this. If I am lucky I get two, three hours of sleep if I fall asleep right now. The book feels warm against my skin, the thick paper of the pages brushing against my nipples. I won’t get hard from this caress, not after that orgasm. I can hear the sound of my breathing in the sanctuary of my bed. It lulls me to sleep; the book my guardian against the dark shadows that loom on the horizon. I can almost feel his body’s warmth next to me, radiating against my naked shoulders. I might be a little weird but that’s okay. I got my Prince. Always.


	2. Emergency Wank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up ladies and gents, this has been turned into a proper series. Enjoy.

Snape is a berk. I honestly to god swear he revels in the misery of his students, the way his eyes simmer whenever he barks out another one of his barbs. Particularly when they are directed at me. Unfortunately, he found something else I am not excelling at, in Defense Against the Dark Arts no less. We already covered that I used to suck at potions. Not anymore, I got my Prince now. How I wished Snape was teaching potions now, he would joke on his every word seeing my flawless concoctions. As it turns out nonverbal spells are not my forte.   
  
He already made me suffer for that in our first class; gleefully rubbing it in again and again. Oh I know he loves it; bet it makes him feel all powerful. As I said, Snape punches down. He’d never act that way towards Dumbledore or one of the other teachers. Granted, he just has an unpleasant character in general but he never mocks or taunts his equals. There is nothing I hate him more for. Considering that he was the target of my father’s and Sirius’ bullying I find that…puzzling. You would assume Snape knows how it feels. I would concede it’s just payback for my father but he treats most students the same.   
  
I am already in a rotten mood and the day has just started. I have a feeling this will get worse before it gets better. I got caught by Ron this morning, you see. I overslept and when Ron pulled back the curtain he found me hugging the book, embracing and caressing it like a lunatic. He exploded. I first put the book in my bag, warded it against intruders and then exploded right back into Ron’s face. We both said some pretty nasty things but he started it. Eventually, I just told him to stuff it and decided to take a shower. I wish there was a way to keep my book with me all the time, in the shower, during class, when I walk the corridors between classes. It’s my safety blanket, why doesn’t Ron understand that?  
  
Back to defense class and Snape being his usual repulsive self. We have been paired up and Ron looks ready to fire a curse into my face. I bet I look the same. We both have our wands pointed at each other as we get ready to cast. Snape stalks the back of the classroom, his black cloak trailing behind him as his squinted eyes try to find flaw with something I do. We are supposed to cast Expelliarmus on each other but in my mind I invoke a different incantation. It’s a spell I found in my book; it’s as if the Prince is standing behind me, guiding my wand to get revenge for Ron stuffing his face where it doesn’t belong.  
  
Levicorpus. Nothing happens. Of course. I suck at this when I never sucked at Defense. It was my favorite subject, I excelled at it every year except last when I had an even poorer teacher than Snape. At least the sour wizard never physically harmed me. He just likes to taunt. And watch. I bet he is a voyeur. Gets off on watching others. That thought does something strange to me. It doesn’t arouse me- because it’s Snape after all- but it chases a shiver down my spine. Oh god, am I an exhibitionist? Does the thought that someone watches me, as I fuck my fist turn me on? Even if it does, doesn’t mean I get turned on by anything involving Snape. Why? I already told you, because it’s fucking Snape. My dick would rather die and fall off than get hard thinking about Snape of all people.   
  
Why is this so hard? Hermione successfully casts Expelliarmus again and again. It’s a first for me. I always succeeded in Defense. Another thing ruined this year. By Snape. Of course. My one class where I always found solace in. Ruined. I grunt as I try to force my wand to cast the Prince’s spell. I wonder what it does. Hopefully something humiliating. Ron deserves it. He thinks I am a nutcase. Accuses me of getting off on a book. Of course I denied it. It’s not the fucking book, it’s the author, Ron. I have a feeling he would take that even worse than me fucking a book. I know it’s weird but I can’t change it. For all I know the Prince could be seventy by now and living out his golden years with his wife in a cottage by the sea. Even so I highly doubt it. Not my Prince.   
  
Ron looks as if he is constipated, his eyes narrowed and his lips mouth Stupefy. Ah ha, we are supposed to cast the disarming spell! Doesn’t matter that I also invoke Levicorpus again and again in the void of my head. How often do I have to tell you he started it? It’s not my fault I am messed up; I lost my parents when I was barely one. Was cursed by a madman. See how you end up if you are raised by my aunt and uncle. And the last years? Piece of cake if you are into constant threats to your life. I am not.   
  
I’d give anything to be able to be alone with my book for a few minutes. Not to wank. Why does everybody concentrate on my dick regarding this book? The Prince is my friend, for fucks sake. I feel save when I am with him. He steadies my hand; he slows my thoughts as I point my wand at Ron.  
  
Levicorpus. Suddenly a bright light emits from my wand and hits Ron in the chest. He is hoisted up into the air, turned on his head and then dangles there by his feet. He sputters as he flails with his arms and I can’t help but snigger when I see how his face gets pinker and pinker. I hear students next to me giggle as well and somebody smacks me on the back. For the first time this year I feel good about Defense; I succeeded with a task. I am the second student who manages a nonverbal spell. Of course Snape has to ruin it.  
  
“Mr. Potter.” I hear him advance from my back but I do not do him the favor of turning around. Instead I admire my spell work. “Does that look like the disarming spell to you?”  
  
I smirk at Ron, who tries to poke me with his wand. “I think it looks even better.” Snape’s face darkens and so I add a quick “Sir.” It does not help.  
  
Snape crosses the space between us until he finds himself only mere centimeters away from me. He is so close that I can see little white sparks in the black retina of his eyes. I can feel the air coming out of his mouth in little puffs and the warmth radiating from him. Woah, Snape is like a furnace, around him the world seems to be several degrees warmer. I constantly have cold feet when I am sleeping. Like a girl. Instead of pulling away I lean a little closer and notice how he inhales sharply. Clearly, he expected me to be intimidated by his sudden proximity but I am not. I feel exhilarated instead.   
  
“Detention, Potter,” Snape spits against my head, his breath muzzling the top of my hair. “And ten points from Gryffindor for assaulting a fellow student.” He leans even closer and suddenly my heart hammers away in my chest. Why do I feel almost dizzy? Snape bends down and his lips nearly brush against my ear. I flinch and almost want to lean against his chest; I barely catch myself. “You are a disgrace for a wizard, Potter,” Snape whispers into my ear as I shudder. With revulsion. Please Merlin, let it be revulsion.   
  
Then he pulls away and strangely enough with a flick of his wand Ron tumbles to the ground. So Snape knows the counterspell? The redhead glares at me but I am too busy adjusting my robe. Can you get a hardon from fear? I stare after Snape who ignores me for the rest of the class, not even once looking into my direction. Thankfully, by the time class is over my erection has subsided and I follow a still irate Ron and an irritated Hermione out of the dungeons. Fuck.   
  
Okay, no need to panic. I had weird erections before. At inappropriate times no less. I swear, I had one during a talk with Dumbledore of all people. I am 100 percent, definitely, without a doubt not into the headmaster at all. The worst about my hardon is, it doesn’t fade. I am currently stuffing my face with pie while inside my trousers my prick throbs with need. It doesn’t help at all when I put my hand into my bag and tenderly caress my book hidden there. It takes all my efforts to stifle a moan. Merlin, I could come right here while Ron looks at me strangely. Now that would be a show. I refuse to look to the high table. Think about something else. Anything.   
  
My Prince. I am fine with being hard thinking about my Prince. He is hot, one of the hottest people I ever met. Only I never met him. Problem is, after what just happened whenever I think about the Prince, I now also remember how scorching hot Snape was when he leaned close to me. Alright, we can work with this. I simply add these things to my version of the Prince. Once I’ve successfully done that, it’s no longer weird to be turned on by it. Because it’s no longer Snape, it’s my Prince. For future references, if I ever get cold feet again in bed, I imagine snuggling up to the Prince.   
  
Phew, much better. My hand currently not engaged in a groping session with my book, brushes over my swollen prick. God, I want to come so badly. I cast a quick wandless tempus. Thirty minutes of break left. That should work. I regretfully pull my hand out of my bag, readjust my cloak and mumbling an apology I run from the hall. I could sneak into one of the loos but I want a proper wank. My cock is already dripping in my pants just thinking about it. So I ascend the stairs to the seventh floor to barge into the common room. Thankfully, there is not first-year around to terrify. Out of my way, emergency! Need to come! Make way, it’s the chosen one! I snicker imagining that for a moment but then my need returns with a vengeance.   
  
Dashing up the stairs like a legion of demons is chasing me I rip open the door to our bedroom. Ah, empty. Perfect. I pull off my uniform as quickly as I can and fly onto my mattress. A flick of my wand closes the curtains and puts up the strongest silencing charms I can muster. Because it’s going to be loud, friends. My cock looks a little purple, my balls are dropping heavily against my body. Greedily I smear the pre-cum over the tip of my prick and moan deeply. This feels so good! But first things first, I take out my book from my bag, open it and place it on my chest. We already talked about this, move on please!  
  
I want to drag it out but I am much too stimulated by now. Realistically I have like one-minute left, tops. I know myself, once I am going there is no turning back. Not if I am already that far. I spread my legs as far as I can and close my fingers around my cock. Yes! Oh my god, I need this so badly. My body is shaking with excitement as I shut my eyes. Up and down, up and down. This is going to be a big one, ladies and gentlemen. One of those orgasms you only have a few times in a lifetime. I feel the first ripples of it surge through my body. My other hand moves to my back as I raise my ass a little. It’s tight but screw it! I am going in! I breach the quivering muscles around my entrance and I am so far gone that I don’t even notice that I am doing it dry. I hastily add a second finger as I curl the tip a little to- ah! Sparks explode behind my closed lids as I touch that one special place. I thrust into my hand as I tighten my fingers around my prick that is by now leaking freely. When I come down I push myself against my fingers, touching my sweet spot. I need a third finger; this is not enough. Down, down, down. And then up, up, up.   
  
My body curls up as my pleasure soars. Can you die from arousal? I might. It has never, ever felt so fucking good. There is nothing that could make it better or I’d die. Except…except perhaps- no don’t go there. But my mind is no longer mine to control. It’s my dick, my fist, my fingers and my need. Nothing else.   
  
Eyes. They are watching me as I hump my fingers like a madman. I grunt and moan, pant as if I ran a marathon. I spread my legs just the tiniest bit more. It’s my Prince. He is kneeling on the lower end of my bed and his dark eyes burn across my already heated skin. More pre-cum and my balls fight as if they will burst any minute. More pressure around my dick; I stuff my fingers into my ass like I want to impale myself. More, more! I am now hyperventilating, shivers run up and down my body as it inches closer and closer to the breaking point. Almost…there!  
  
My Prince suddenly takes out his wand; a black one; I’ve seen it before but it doesn’t matter now. He moves closer, lowers his body and then trails the tip of his wand down my stomach. Oh my fucking god! I can’t take it, not one more moment but his vicious eyes tell me he won’t stop. I raise my ass a little more and then the cool wood of an acacia wand joins my fingers to penetrate the ring there. Sparks explode in front of my eyes as I struggle to breathe, as try to will enough oxygen into my lungs. Please god, don’t let me faint! I cling to those dark eyes as he relentlessly pushes the wand against my sweet spot. I need to come so badly but something is keeping me. What? What could possibly be missing? I am at my breaking point, my balls ache, my cock leaks pre-cum like crazy and my whole body curves up like a drawn bow.   
  
The Prince’s lips curl into a smirk as he bows down over my chest and places his lips against my sensitive ear. His lips dart out and tap my burning skin there. It should cool me but in all honesty I scream as my body convulses. I hear him chuckle and his voice is music to my ear, it drives me higher and higher towards my peak. By now even his breath pushes me further and further towards the abyss.   
I can feel it in my bones; he is going to say something and those words will push me over the edge. I strain my ears as I wait, as I burn with my desire. Don’t torture me, Prince! Ah! I need it!  
“Come for me, Potter,” he whispers and how could I ever deny him? I utter something that sounds suspiciously close to a sob, a prayer, as my balls burst and my cock explodes over my hand, my chest, the book, his stomach as he leans over me. My blood is rushing in my ears, echoing through the rest of my body for minutes as I simply lie there, spread out on my bed, every single cell shaking with my release.   
  
Slowly, I come to my senses and a quick tempus reveals I will be several minutes late for my potion class. Boy, this orgasm was worth it. I clean myself with flick of my wand and then when I see my seed on the pages of my precious book, I groan and cast another cleaning charm. As I put on my uniform I ty to calm my breath. I am still panting as if I just rushed up the stairs. After pushing my book back into my bag, I flop down on my bed, resting my head against my hands.   
  
That was is intense. Much better than my usual wanking. I have certainly never come harder in my life; just the memory of my release forces a quiet moan from my trembling lips.   
  
As I run down the stairs I start a mental inventory. I may be, perhaps, an exhibitionist. Those eyes turned me on. Just thinking about them right now, makes me want to turn around and return to my dorm. For another round. The knowledge that I very likely would not survive another orgasm like this keeps me running down the stairs. I am also into wands. In my ass. Thrusting, pushing, forcing…okay I need to stop here. Or I never make it so my class. I inhale deeply and then slowly exhale. Better.  
  
And that voice. My Prince has a beautiful voice, silken, smooth, a little raspy. I can still feel the aftershocks of his words in my body. Ordering me to come…for him. So hot.   
  
Suddenly I stop. That voice. I heard it before. Oh my fucking god! The Prince…I hyperventilate as I stare at a frightened first-year who just comes out of the great hall. You are late for class buddy! Don’t mind me. I am just coming to grips with the fact that my Prince has Snape’s voice. I’ll be fine, once the earth opens and swallows me. Fuck. Shit.   
  
On their own accord my legs continue the way to class. Obviously they remember where to go and I am grateful. I am afraid my brain is busy right now with accepting that I am a freak. Just…don’t say a word. I know, I am fine with being fucked by a wand but the thought of Snape’s voice freaks me out. There is a perfectly good reason for that. Once I find it, I’ll tell you.   
  
Okay, Snape has a fine voice. Even Ron admits that. Calm down, there is a reasonable explanation for this, I am sure. Surely, you can be a repulsive arsehole and have a nice voice? It’s then only logical…reasonable to use that voice for your Prince. I figure, I need to draw my inspiration somewhere; I simply don’t know what kind of voice my Prince had. See? Reasonable.  
  
I eventually reach the potions classroom and lean my head to the marred woods for a moment. I am going to be fine. I need to look on the bright side. Now, my Prince has a voice, eyes, a wand. He is almost real and can be of use in future wanking sessions. Do not judge me! I told you I am messed up. Nothing to see. Next Defense class won’t be weird at all. No Sir. Fuck, I have detention before Thursday. No worries. I am good. I mean, how bad can it be, right? Snape is going to be his usual nasty self and I will be grand.   
  
I inhale, brace my shoulders and open the door to Slughorn’s classroom. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. I got my Prince. Always. Now with Snape’s voice.   
  
Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this brightens everybody's day a little in these bleak times. Hopefully, I can update several times a week. As always, let me know what you think.


	3. Just darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no smut in this one. A warning, however: there is an allusion to suicide, nothing explicit but I thought I should mention it. Enjoy.

It’s Tuesday evening and once again I can’t sleep. I worked myself so hard in yesterday’s quidditch practice that I fell into my bed and was instantly asleep in mere seconds. Ginny called me a slave driver for being so relentless with our team. I just shrugged. I am captain and we needed the practice. It’s a lucky coincidence if it keeps me from touching my dick in the evening. 

Not so much luck today. I only had classes and now I am lying here staring into the darkness. Tomorrow I have to serve my detention with Snape. I am certainly not excited or anything; the shivers that runs down my spine are shivers of pure revulsion. It’s not as if want to spend any more time with Snape; it’s just this stupid detention he gave me. Maybe he can’t wait to spend more time with me? I mean, you can’t help but wonder: I had three detentions this year in just four weeks. That screams infatuation in my mind. It’s settled then- Snape fancies me. 

On a different matter, I made up my mind. I won’t touch myself anymore. That’s my new resolution and I am sticking to it. How long you ask? Keep your nose out of my business please. I threw the book into my trunk and it stays there. Me and that book, we only ever starts these kind of messes. See Ron, I can actually stand to be separated from my book. I hate it and I feel as if somebody has cut of my arms and legs and only left the meager rest to suffer. I figure if somebody asked me to chose between my magic and the book…I‘d stab them in the heart, snatch my book and run. 

I hear the other boys snoring peacefully in their beds. I would give my life for any of them but right now I hate the whole bunch. They sleep and leave me all alone, with my wicked thoughts and itchy hand. God, I want to touch myself but I am scared what kind of kinks I discover today. Never knew I was that…depraved between the sheets. Hi, I am the boy who lived and into fucking my wand. 

It is late already but how late exactly I can’t tell. True, I could cast a tempus spell but why depress myself? I reckon, morning is still a long time away and I know I won’t get any rest. So I wait. Until I am so upset that I slip out of my bed, take my invisibility cloak and sneak out of the dorm. In the common room the fire has died by now and it has gotten pretty cold. I shortly consider going back and snatch a jumper but then decide against it. 

The fat lady is snoring in her painting and I try not to make a sound as I leave the tower. It’s quiet outside, and dark but I know my way around. Years of sneaking through the fucking castle have prepared me for this. It’s almost relaxing in a way, nobody around, nothing to distract me. During the day there is so much to do, a thousand people who all want something from you. Well, from me they only want one single thing and it sucks. I sometimes want to stand up in the great hall during peak mealtime, turn to the high table and scream my lungs out. I am Harry, I am more than the boy who lived, more than your fucking savior. How dare you place all that on a sixteen-year-old? I am crumbling here and nobody cares. But I never do. I can’t. It feels like I am unable to rock the boat. I am too afraid of drowning, you know.

Saving the world is a funny thing. It feels like you ever only get attention when shit hits the fan. I mean, I was living with my relatives for eleven years- and I using living very generously here. It was more existing, enduring. It wore me down, demoralized me until I stopped hoping for anything better. No use crying over spilled milk, right? Where was I? Sorry my mind drifts sometimes and I lose track of what I am saying. Ah yes. Living with my relatives. Well, for eleven years nobody checked on me. No owl, no letter, nothing. Zilch. Nada. I guess, Riddle was dead so as long as I survived, why bother? It is what it is. 

I stroll down corridors, down the stairs, completely aimless. I have nowhere to be, nobody is waiting for me. It’s a nice feeling. I just miss my book. If the prince would be with me, I would not feel so alone. Maybe Ginny was on to something after all. There is something in that book that is pulling me in, chaining me to the essence of a sixteen-year-old student who excelled at potions but not much else. A little like me. I excel at beating the odds. Nothing more. Killing curse when I was a baby? Who survives something like that? Pure luck, if you ask me. Yeah, yeah I know, my mom sacrificed her life for me and that’s why I am here. The story is supposed to inspire hope, dedication, like I owe it to my mom to fight. In a way I do. I am not ungrateful, please don’t take it like that! I swear I am going to keep doing what I can to defeat Riddle. Just don’t be mad if I am not good enough. Or if I lose my mind along the way. 

From time to time a ghost floats past me. I wonder what it’s like to be a ghost. Can they feel the cold? Do they miss all the things they would do while they were alive? It sounds like a dreadful existence. If you wanted to punish me, you’d turn me into a ghost. Abysmal. You never get any rest. The one comforting thought about my own demise is that I can finally stop trying. Whether I win or lose, I am done. No more fighting, no more feeling like I am walking on a wire, trying to not fall. There is no one there to catch me. Not even my prince. I know, he is not real, okay? I haven’t lost it. Not yet.

I find myself at the top of the Astronomy tower. Strange. How did I get here? I mean, I know I walked here but why? It’s cold up here, the wind is forcing tears out of my eyes and I only wear my flimsy pajamas. What was I thinking? It’s fucking cold here and I immediately begin to shiver. The only good thing is the view. I am so close to the stars up here; it’s as if I can reach out my hand and touch them. 

I am standing at the edge. Both literally and figuratively. I never look down; not because I am scared of heights. It’s too tempting. The emptiness around me, below, it beckons me, calls me and I can’t say I will always be strong enough to resist. I am not suicidal. Why would you even suggest such a thing? See. I am balancing on the edge of this fucking tower; it’s not the first time if you have to know. Been here load of times. Back then when they all thought I was the heir of Slytherin. When Ron wasn’t talking to me in my fourth year. After Cedric. Every night when Umbridge tortured me with her evil quill. Every night till summer break after Sirius died. It was close a couple of times but I never gave in. 

I wish the prince was with me but I had to leave the fucking book in my dorm. Who am I trying to impress? Why am I attempting to prove something? To whom? I admit, I would feel safer right now if I had my book. It’s one of those nights you know. There’s more and more of them in the last year. 

I should return to my dorm. One, I need sleep. Got a long day tomorrow including my detention with Snape. Two, I don’t like it when I am here in that kind of state. You know, talking with people in my own head and balancing on the edge of a tower. That never goes well. I am almost ready to turn around and leave when I hear something. Steps. They are coming closer, up the stairs. Fuck. Now my way back is blocked. I pull the cloak tightly around my body and carefully inch back until my back touches the tower. There, another night I did not jump.

I hold my breath when a shadow appears in the doorway and for one terrible second I believe it’s a Death Eater. Black cloak and mask over his face. In a way I am right; it’s Snape. He is a Death Eater after all. I saw his mark. In one of my dreams, you know those I won’t ever admit I have; I sat at his feet and licked his mark again and again. Like a dog with a bone. Or a child with an ice cream cone. There was nothing kinky in that dream; it wasn’t one of those dreams. 

Snape wears his usual attire: black cloak, frog coat underneath and his black hair falls down to almost his shoulders. The mask; it’s his impenetrable expression of aloofness. He gives nothing away. Sometimes I envy him. It’s a skill worth learning. For a long moment he stands in the archway. I hold my breath as he just stands there, without any movement. Like a statue, carved in stone. 

What’s he doing here? I know he prowls the corridors most nights. I’ve seen him before but the Astronomy tower isn’t his usual hunting ground. Fuck, does he know I am here? I press myself into the stone wall and pray to every deity who would listen to please make him leave so I can go back to my dorm. But he just stands there, his eyes on the horizon as if he can see something there. It’s only darkness if you ask me. Black, impenetrable darkness. Nothing more. Suddenly he steps out and strolls to the side. He pulls something out of his pocket, something long and delicate. It reflects the moonlight, almost straight into my eyes. Ouch. I quickly look away. When I dare to look back again, I can see Snape has taken out a tin can and when he opens it the most pleasant scent fills my nose. This smells divine, whatever it is. Snape puts some of it into a small chamber at the end of the long device and when he lights a pocket lighter I can see he has a metal pipe in his hand. He puts the small flame near the chamber to light it and then takes a deep drag. 

I cannot take my eyes of him. He has closed his eyes; his face is turned to the sky as he calmly takes one drag after the other. It seems to relax him, the permanent scowl fades from his features as he blows the smoke into the night. The scent of the herbs he is smoking fills everything around me, every crevice of my nose and mouth. I can almost taste it on my lips. I can make out something akin to peppermint, but everything else is completely foreign to me. 

Snape stands so close to me; I could almost touch him if I reached out with my hand. I can see the outline of his face from where I am standing, every little line in his skin. Most of them are not happy ones. Snape must be, what…36, 37 now? I have to admit he usually looks older, closer in age to my head of house. But right now, his features are relaxed, with even a slight smile around his eyes, he suddenly looks much younger. Closer to his real age. 

I press my arms tightly against my sides, not trusting myself with anything right now. I want this to end, I want him to leave so that this tension in my body dissipates. There is a disconnect between my brain and my muscles; one wants one thing while they other…well, it’s madness. I have no idea how long he stands there, smoking his pipe and I huddle against the wall underneath my cloak but eventually he is done. He douses his pipe, puts it back into his pocket and then…stays right where he is. 

I want to walk up to him, grip his shoulders and shake them. Why are you not leaving? This is my place, my one sanctuary; don’t you dare take that away from me. Instead I bite my lips and hold myself so still that my muscles tremble. 

Snape stares out into the night, his expression thoughtful. This aloofness I was talking about earlier, his mask- well it’s gone. Her before me stands the real Severus Snape and it is terrifying. Scarier than his barking, scowling self; even scarier than last year when I breached the privacy of his pensieve. Because I am used to dealing with that Snape; furious, mean, snarky. My defenses are in place. But this person over there; complete stranger. I have no idea how to handle him. And so I stay frozen to the spot until he finally spins around and leaves the tower. 

It’s only several minutes later, when I am convinced he is truly gone, that I dare to relax. I stay on the tower almost till dawn, trying to see what Snape had been seeing. But it’s only darkness, just as I thought. My prince never finds me that night; maybe Snape scared him away. I am not mad, I can relate. The sun is almost rising when I slip into my bed and snuggle into the pillow. I won’t sleep, Ron will be getting up soon. I have maybe an hour, tops. 

As I yawn I resolve to apologize to my best friend later today. I don’t blame him for being jealous of my prince. Maybe we can hang out later, play some chess. Ron always likes that. Chess is another thing I suck at. I don’t mind it. I can hear Seamus rustling in his bed and then, low moaning fills the room. I roll my eyes at him and flick my wand. My own fault for dropping my silencing charms. My own hands stay above the cover today. Maybe if Snape doesn’t drag out my detention I have a go later tonight. I just have to remember to put my wand somewhere safe. I no longer trust myself with that, kinky as I am. 

Another sleepless night, another morning where I won’t come wake up until I have my coffee. Another yawn tumbles out of my mouth. Might as well drift off for a few minutes. It’s not as if I have anything better to do. Strange pictures of dark-haired wizards smoking pipes follow me into my dreams until Ron wakes me with a pillow to my face. I smirk at him and throw the pillow right back. We are good again, the two of us. That’s what friends are for. Hurling pillows into your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, detention.


	4. In Snape's living room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay, hopefully, this chapter makes up for your wait.

In the evening you would expect to find me in Snape’s classroom serving my detention but instead I am sitting in his living room fisting my dick. How did I get here, you ask? That is a very good question but I have a feeling it might take a while to answer. So let’s start with breakfast, shall we?

Ron and I were engrossed in a heated discussion about the current season of the chudley cannons, so yes we had indeed made up. That’s the thing with our friendship, we fight but we always get it sorted in the end. Hermione had her head stuck into a book but that’s the way she has been spending her breakfast since last year when she began to panic about her O.W.L.s around Christmas. Seamus and Dean got involved at one point, both engaging in their favorite past time of mocking Ron for his steadfast affection for his favorite team. Naturally, I had to change sides and support him. Bros before… ehm other bros I guess.

For a guy I am fairly good at multitasking, at least according to Hermione. I am not sure if that is her honest to god opinion or if she just says it to motivate me. Right this moment I disagree because I am just listing seven reasons why the Cannons will definitely turn the season around very soon while I am valiantly ignoring my dick. I am regretting not touching myself for two nights in a row so deeply by now. In my desperate attempt to forget what happened on the Astronomy tower last night- nothing happened on the Astronomy tower by the way, nothing at all, thank you very much- I decided to keep my book in my trunk at the end of my bed.

I have honestly no idea why. Maybe to prove to some hypothetical person that I do not need my book with me all the time or that the idea that I am in love with a fictional person- Ron’s words, not mine- is ridiculous. I am certainly not beginning to see black-haired princes from the corner of my eyes everywhere I go. Because that would make me doubt my mental faculties.

How I want to just pull out my dick and start stroking it, here at the breakfast table! It’s my dick and there is absolutely nothing wrong with touching it. Maybe with fucking your wand but I did not have yet a chance to start a survey. Has honestly nobody thought about using a long, hard, wooden stick like that before?

Next thing I know I am on my way to classes and for some reason there is always something or somebody needing my full undivided attention. Lunch comes and goes and I am beginning to feel stuck but for some inexplicable reason the notion that I am going to spend my evening with Snape helps to keep from pulling out my wand and start practicing Unforgivables on people. Honestly, if one more person needs my useless opinion about some random thing or other I am going to scream. Or thrust my wand into my ass, right where I stand. To hell with their opinion about what constitutes a proper hero.

The afternoon is not much better. First my afternoon class, charms with Flitwick and I am not saying that I am rubbing my dick under the table while he explains the use of advanced fire spells but I am not denying it either. How can a cock stay hard over several hours? I might have used a glamor on it at one point, tired of trying to hide my erection under my cloak. After class has ended I have a brief moment during which I expect I can sneak away to a random bathroom and take care of my problem because I am starting to stare at people’s wands. I am almost out of the door when Neville of all people approaches me. Anybody else I would have cursed to hell but it had to be Neville. Problem with him is he is a good one. An honestly decent guy who rarely asks for a favor. Now he wants to talk about his parents and I vaguely remember offering such a talk last year after the battle in the department of mysteries.

Before I know it we sit next to the fireplace and Neville pours out his heart about dreading Christmas this year because he feels overwhelmed with the demands his grandmother has and his wish to spend more time with his parents. It’s complicated and I honest to god try to help but my experience with all of it, parents, nans and Christmas is limited so in the end I just listen hoping it helps.

Of course by the time we are done- I can’t be too mad with Neville because he profusely thanks me for my time- it is time for dinner. I groan and follow Ron and Hermione down the stairs to the great hall. There is no way I can squeeze in a little session of good old wanking before my detention because we have a team meeting in our dorm later tonight. I am the captain of the damn quidditch team so I guess I need to attend. Ginny reminds me several times; it’s payback for the heavy training on Monday, I know. I am by now resigned to my fate as I sit in my armchair and listen to people’s ideas about tactics and a very heated discussion about the best broomstick. Ginny seems upset that I am not taking her side but in all honesty I don’t care about fucking broomsticks when my cock is throbbing in my pants. Sorry Ginny. Except, a broomstick has a wooden handle, like a wand just bigger, thicker…

Ginny complains and asks me why I am laughing like a madman but I am afraid that explanation is no longer g-rated. I would have to explain my newfound fondness of wood in my ass and we are not that close, all of you. The clock ticks away and part of me is excited to see Snape like this while the other part is horrified at the pictures my mind conjures. Fortunately, I do not use that opportunity to notice for the first time that the wand my prince used on my ass is an exact replica of Snape’s wand. That would be awkward.

Finally, when the clock strikes shortly before eight I jump up, announce that I have to attend my detention with Snape now and race out of the dorm like a madman is chasing after me. It’s cool, it’s detention with Snape. Everybody understands that you are not late to those. As I run through the halls my heart hammers away in my chest, I am surprised nobody rips open their door and ask what all the noise is about. Instead I arrive at the classroom door just as the clock changes to eight and I have to catch my breath for a moment.

I feel like I am burning inside as I lean against the door, trying to calm the fuck down. No matter what, it simply won’t do to jump Snape the moment he opens the door and beg for his wand. Once I am sufficiently calmed down I raise my fist and knock on the door. Nothing. Maybe that was not loud enough so I knock again, this time by swinging back and then crashing my fist against the wood. Nothing, again.

Just my luck. The one detention I actually want to attend, and Snape is not here. I would laugh if I did not feel a wave of anxiety rise from my chest. Where is Snape?

I hear movement behind me and feel the tension leaving my body. He is here. He’s just a little late. No biggie. But it’s not Snape approaching but my own head of house. She looks surprised to see me.

“Mr. Potter, what are you doing down here at this hour?” After curfew, you mean.

“I have a detention,” I answer triumphantly. See? I have a very professional reason to be down here.

McGonagall seems taken aback. “Detention? I am afraid, Professor Snape is indisposed tonight but I am sure he will reschedule your detention at a later time.”

“Indisposed? What does that even mean?” Where is the fucker?

“That is none of your business, Potter,” McGonagall says with more force than is strictly necessary. “Go back to your dorm, there won’t be any detentions tonight.”

As she clearly dismisses me, I shrug and start my way around the corner only to pull out my cloak and hide underneath it. I am not a first year after all and if I do not question my urgent need to see Snape tonight, I am good. I hear more steps approaching and Dumbledore walks up to McGonagall just as she steps around the corner herself.

“He is not back yet?” he asks.

“No, I already checked his quarters.” McGonagall sighs. “You shouldn’t have let him attend the meeting Albus, there is no telling what he will do to Severus should his cover be blown.”

Dumbledore puts his arm around her as they begin to walk back into the direction of the great hall.

“I had no choice, we need his intel, as you know,” he assured her. “Severus is aware of the risks and ready to take them. He is resourceful enough to take care of himself Minerva, do not worry.”

As they walk out of ear shot I try to quell the fear inside me. Why am I afraid? I am fine. Just a little cold in this stupid dungeon. I should really go back to my dorm; I have no business being down here at this time of night.

Instead, I lean against the wall next to the classroom and decide to wait. I have honestly no idea why or what for but I stopped asking myself those kind of questions recently, any questions really. I should be fine here under my cloak; the Slytherin dorm is far enough away that nobody should be down here except Snape. If his cover is not blown.

But it won’t be. Dumbledore said so, you heard the man. Snape is too resourceful for that. He knows the risks. No need to worry, no reason to choke with fear. He’ll be fine and I figure out soon enough why I care. There is a perfectly good reason for that. I see the prince again out of the corners of my eye but I only wave and ignore him. He’s probably only here to wait for Snape. There’s no reason we can’t wait together.

Unfortunately, I am not a very patient guy. Ask anyone. I begin to pace, back and forth until I force myself to calm the fuck down and stop hyperventilating. If Snape gets here and finds me like this, he’ll think I’ve lost my mind. Not that I care. Whether he think that. Or comes back. Totally indifferent.

It’s surprise, nothing more, that I flinch as soon as I hear…something. There is someone here, coming closer. Maybe a Slytherin? Maybe there is an emergency in their dorm and they need their head of house. Hah, get in line bugger. I am here for a detention. Or it could be McGonagall checking on Snape again. I stay where I am.

The sounds come closer, get louder. It’s almost as if something is dragged along the corridor. I also hear panting, and then something heavy thudding on the ground.

I dash up and around the corner to find Snape on the ground, his hair hiding his face. I am frozen, rooted to the ground and for a while I can’t bring myself to move. Until I hear a groan. Then I shrug of my cloak and I am by his side in a split second.

With shaking hands I brush his hair out of his face and hold my breath. No blood, no wounds. I carefully nudge his body but he does not seem physically harmed at all. He should be fine, tower over me and mock my concern for a wizard who hates me. Instead he is still breathing heavily and his eyes dart from side to side behind his lids. He’s not sleeping, is he?

I gently nudge him again, then shake his shoulder. Nothing. Knocked out or something. But he is fine. Then why is he not moving? What can bring a body to such a state without leaving visible marks? Neville’s parents come to mind. The cruciatus curse. The horror that fills me even kills my libido.

I should alert somebody. Dumbledore. Pomfrey. But instead I carefully check that there is no one around.

“Dobby?” I whisper.

With a plop the friendly house-elf appears, dressed in another colorful assortment of random clothes, and instantly starts to shower his love and praise on me. Usually I am fine with that but right now I need his help. We are on the clock.

“Do you know where Professor Snape’s quarters are?” I ask him in a whisper and am relieved when he nods. “Can you show me? He is hurt and I need to get him settled down.”

Thankfully, Dobby never asks any questions; he is like me in that way. He just happily snaps his finger, let’s Snape float behind us as we walk deeper into the dungeons. We turn two corners and then I find myself in front of an unassuming door with a silver snake instead of a normal doorknob. Dobby touches the snake; it lets out a hissing sound and then the door is swinging wide open.

Dobby walks right in, snips his finger to light the fire and then looks around.

“Where does Master Harry want the professor?”

I have honestly no idea. It would probably help if I knew what I was doing and why. I am simply standing in the middle of the room and stare into space. For some reason, the knowledge that I am fucking standing in Snape’s living room is freezing me right where I am. Again. I am useless.

Dobby nods- why is he nodding? Did I say something?- and then floats the still motionless professor through a door to the right. I decide to follow him, mostly because it feels weird standing here alone. I come to a very abrupt halt in the doorway as I begin to hyperventilate again. It’s Snape’s bedroom.

While Dobby rests his patient on the sheets, I look around, greedily taking in every single detail. Snape’s bedroom is surprisingly un-Slytherin, no green, no silver, no snakes. Most of the furniture is made off warm mahogany wood, with cream sheets and golden accents. On his dresser are pictures and a fake window shows the lake as if we were slightly above it and not underneath the ground.

I am itching to look at the pictures but instead I walk over to Dobby who has conjured some potions that he places on the night table. He flicks his hand and one potion floats over to hover next to Snape and then begins to pour down his throat. The elf looks as if he is done, reminds me to make sure that Snape takes his potions as soon as he wakes and then with another snap he is gone. I swallow, hard.

Did I just for some inexplicable reason somehow become Snape’s caregiver? His nurse? Male nurse? In no way did that thought trigger my libido, waking up my dick from his fear-induced sleep. For one long horrible moment I want to belt around and run away, preferably somewhere far away. I can’t do this, not with Snape.

I guess I could still call someone but how would I explain my presence here? No, it would open up a whole new can of worms that I don’t want to deal with right now. Snape appears better now; he is resting comfortably and according to Dobby it’s not the first time he has returned in this state. Makes you wonder how Dumbledore sleeps at night, sending Snape into possible torture scenarios like this? I am quite fond of the headmaster but he has shown serious disregard for my own or other’s wellbeing at times and somebody has to eventually speak up. Preferably someone who will be needed so desperately due to a prophecy that it can’t be waved away with. So me in case you weren’t following.

I sigh and then walk over to Snape to stare at his face. He looks miserable but when has he ever looked any different. I know, on the Astronomy tower last night, smoking his herbs. I want to stretch out my hand and touch him- god do I want to touch him!- but I don’t dare to. I can’t guarantee that I won’t search his robes to find his wand and then use it on my ass to see if it really feels as if somebody sets me on fire. I feel a tightness inside that has nothing to do with my raging hardon; I just never felt more alone. I mean I am with Snape but even if he were awake he would never give me what I want, what I need. The prince appears in my peripheral vision, climbs onto the bed and motions for me to join them. I shake my head violently and then run out of the room.

Normally, I would return to my dorm but Dobby warned me about complications and side-effects of the potion he gave Snape so instead I flop down on the couch in front of the fireplace and pour me a glass of pumpkin juice from a pitcher Dobby left us. As I sip the drink I try to wish my erection away. I can’t deal with that right now. Not here, with him. I am unsuccessful.

As I sit here I can feel the weight of my boredom pressing me down into the surprisingly comforting sofa. It’s weird in a way that I know deep down this is only the quiet before the storm; I _know_ things are going to get a whole lot worse very soon but right now it feels I am drifting from classes to the memory sessions with Dumbledore to my obsession with what Malfoy is up to. I am acutely aware it’s all connected and those links will shape the next years of my life but still it all feels so dull, so tedious that I hardly find the motivation to get up in the morning.

I sigh as I finish my drink and when I place my glass back on the coffee table, my eyes catch sight of my wand next to me on the cushion. There would be a way to pass the time, a very enjoyable way. However, Snape is in the room next doors; I can’t possibly consider wanking right now? I can already feel the surge of excitement as it runs down my spine to settle in my dick.

I can feel in real time how I am losing the fight against my libido but in all honesty when did I ever win those struggles? It usually goes: my dick wants something, I oblige. It usually means we are having a loads of fun and I’d be lying if I told you the thought of doing it in ear shot of the dour potions master doesn’t turn me on. Maybe more than I am comfortable with.

As I am contemplating this matter I am already rubbing my hardening prick through the fabric of my jeans. To hell with it, Snape looked as if he’d be out and probably wouldn’t wake for a while. I am so excited already but I slow myself down a little. This better be good, this seems like a once in a lifetime chance so I have to make it count.

My fingers clumsily open the fly and button of my jeans and I sigh as they curl around my shaft. Yes, just what I need! I impatiently push down my jeans as my other hand dives under my shirt to rub and pinch my nipple. This is going to be good; I can feel it in the way my prick trembles and throbs with every slow stroke of my hand. A moan tumbles from my lips as I imagine Snape being here with me, his black eyes burning into my skin as he watches every touch of pleasure with unyielding eyes.

Before I can stop myself my hand trails away from my chest and curls around the durable wood of my wand. I want to feel it, how it thrusts into my ass as I pump my cock. I don’t care how reckless it is, how much I run the risk of Snape waking up to find me here like a wanton slut on his sofa, I need this and by Merlin I am going to get it. My prince nods approvingly from the other side of the room where he stays for now.

I raise myself on my knees and with trembling fingers I carefully push my wand into my butt. It’s easier than I thought and it feels every bit as good as I imagined it would. I find a rhythm of moving back against the wood in my hand and then forward again into the fist still curled around my prick. I am getting closer, every muscle in my body tenses in that sweet agony of impending orgasm.

Somebody clears their throat and my eyes snap open to find black eyes meeting mine, scorching me with their anger. My body is thrumming with pleasure while my mind scrambles to make me stop. I might be able to calm down, to not embarrass myself further until I hear his silken, velvety voice. It’s not what he’s saying- Snape never says anything nice to me anyways- but how he does it. His words sound raspy, throaty as if every syllable wants to help push me further towards the edge into oblivion.

“Take your wand out there this instant,” Snape forces out and I am helpless, I fall and then without any additional stimulation I come hard over my hand and Snape’s sofa. The prince smirks from his place over by the door, his black eyes dancing with mirth.

_Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, a cliffhanger! So sorry. I try to update soon. As always, enjoy and if you'd like, leave a message.


	5. An astute conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without much ado the resolution to my nasty cliffhanger. Finally, Harry finds out who the half-blood prince is.

Okay, you’d think after catching me in such a comprising position, Snape would rip my head off, go into bastard mode and assign me detention for the rest of school days but in fact, I am now sitting on his couch, my happily spent cock packed away into my trousers, Snape is pacing the room, droning on about accidental spell damage in your rectum. The prince sits next to me, the god-damn smirk still on his pale features and his long, graceful fingers play with his obsidian wand, of all things. I really try to concentrate on Snape’s words, if he were anybody else I would even believe him being concerned about my wellbeing but it’s Snape we are talking about. So, I just assume he is more annoyed with the fact, that he ends up having to deal with _this_.

The prince is now trailing his impossibly long index finger down the length of his wand and it does unspeakably things to my prick. Really? After I just had an orgasm? Why can’t you leave me alone for a little while, at least until I am safely back in my dorm where we can continue to have some fun? I am not one hundred percent sure whether I am talking to the prince or my prick but somebody needs to listen.

“Why are you constantly peeking to your right, Potter?” Snape asks me, his black eyes squinted suspiciously as he stares at the exact place the prince is now lounging, obviously not taking the fuming potions professor seriously at all. Instead, he rolls his eyes and then crosses his legs in another infuriatingly elegant way.

I know my cheeks are still burning red from what Snape caught me doing and I have a feeling my voice would sound a little husky, maybe slightly broken if I tried to utter one word and so I just shrug and because I obviously have a hidden death wish I cast Snape one of my own grins.

Snape growls, yes he growls from the depth of his throat as he begins to pace the length of the room in front of the fireplace, his long strides crossing the room in a couple of steps. He looks and sounds like a caged animal, the barely concealed fury restrained in his controlled features as he set off in another burst of insults. It’s the usual stuff, _insufferable_ , _dimwitted_ , _arrogant_ \- oi, there’s a new one: constant slave to your lesser urges. I like that, it describes me down to a t. But honestly, it describes half of my dorm on a good day and all of it during the night.

So, as Snape prowls thought he room like a predator who needs some exercise before he culls his prey, I watch him as he suddenly stops at the window and freezes. His face is twisted into a grimace as he stares back at me and for the life of me I can’t read his expression. Anger, definitely but there is something else. Contempt, absolutely. It seems to amuse the prince next to me who cracks another grin as his hand brushes over my thigh. I flinch and barely suppress a deepfelt moan.

“What is wrong with you Potter?” Snape spits out as his fingers curl around his wand. “For weeks you have been acting erratic, as if your mind is more unhinged than it usually is. Do not for one moment think none of your professors noticed the display of your delusion.”

Did he just call me crazy? Well, I am not saying I am completely healthy while the prince is brushing my prick into action again. Instead, I do the one thing every student does like clockwork all over the world: I blame it on somebody else. How about on the infuriating bastard smirking at me from his place next to me?

“It’s the prince’s fault,” I yell as I jump up and he has the audacity to bark out in laughter. Not Snape, the prince who can’t calm himself down.

Snape’s head snaps to me. “Who?” His voice sounds ready to pound on whomever might be responsible and it might just get me off the hook so I decide to go on.

“The prince,” I repeat and point to the sofa even though I know he won’t be able to see him, nobody can as he is a fucking fabrication of my mind.

Almost comically, Snape can’t help himself but his eyes snap to the empty place on his sofa, his eyebrow knitted so thoroughly that there are two distinct lines over his nose. He is breathing heavily, there is even a trail of spit running from the corner of his mouth down his chin and the funny thought crosses my mind that I want to lick it up. Now, that thought is gross and to distract from it, I decide to elaborate on my earlier remark.

“The half-blood prince,” I state almost accusingly and the effect on Snape is almost immediate. His eyes snap open even further than before, the muscles in his jaw clench and he looks as if he wants to pounce me. Then he does. His fingers curl into the collar of my shirt, I am pulled from the couch and Snape’s face is now so close to my I can feel his breath touching my skin as he hisses. The wizard looks less and less like a man and more like a beast by the second. It’s probably the wrong moment to mention it turns me on.

“What are you playing at?” he spats out, spit flying everywhere as his eyes simmer with unrestrained fury by now. I don’t really understand his reaction to the name but I share his sentiment. I am mad with the prince as well, for getting me into this situation, for never needing more than a simple look to get me going, for having the habit to disappear in the thick of it all. Like right now, poof, he is gone, probably having fun somewhere else. Snape is still watching me like a lion, deciding whether to ambush me right now or get some more information out of me.

“I am not playing,” I defend myself and struggle in Snape’s ironclad grip. “It’s his fault I have this new kink about wands in my ass, I see him everywhere, like on the sofa , he was there only moments ago! It’s honestly all his fault!” Okay, maybe I don’t make much sense right now, maybe not even to myself but I don’t care, I just need to get out of here.

There, under the veneer of his fury is now almost an expression of budding lunacy on Snape’s face, like he is going to snap any minute and god beware if that happens while I am still here. He pulls me so close that the tips of our noses touch; if I move forward a little our lips would as well but it’s my turn to be frozen now.

“The half-blood Prince is not real,” he rasps, his eyes darting from one side of my face to the other.

“I know,” I whisper, my eyes unable to look away from his hauntingly beautiful expression. It’s a little like on the astronomy tower only a lot darker now.

Snape nods as if he also needs the reassurance. “The half-blood Prince is not real,” he repeats again, his voice deathly quiet. “He is nothing more than annotations in a textbook, nothing more than a fevered figment of your imagination, Potter and this needs to stop.” I’d be less scared if he were screaming but there is an almost desperate intensity to his voice, as if I could make the prince disappear for both of us. Good luck, that’s one persistent bastard.

I am so fascinated by his tone that I almost miss what he’s saying. _He knows about the book_. Oh fuck, he knows about the book! How? How can he know about the annotations, the funny stories, the insulting remarks in a book that is currently hidden in my trunk? My head hurts, it doesn’t make sense at all unless…

Did you know him?” I ask and there is a desperate hope in my chest that maybe I am going to find out who occupied my mind for weeks now, who intoxicated my thoughts so I can’t imagine spending one more second without him around the corner.

Snape stares at me, calculating, pondering his next move as if we were playing a game of chess. Shortly, I hope he is going to tell me but then he drops me on the couch, sneering now.

“You are one gullible boy Potter,” he scoffs as he turns around. He seems to be done with me as he walks back to his place at the window, pulling his cloak tightly around his towering body as he stands guard there. “Return to your dormitory immediately. Furthermore, do us both a favor and forget what happened tonight, drop this foolish notion that the half-blood prince does exist at all.”

Everything inside me fights this suggestion on the spot. How can he expect me to give up my one guilty pleasure, the thought that gets me out of bed in the morning? Maybe if I had the chance to talk with the real prince, if I could just see him, hear his voice I could concentrate on anything besides my dick for a moment. I know what is happening right now, with Voldemort, his memories that I am evaluating with the headmaster is important, hell it’s my life that’s on the line. These private session with Dumbledore they are supposed to teach me something, to set me up in my fight with Riddle. It’s not as if I don’t have a thousand things on my mind, with memories, Malfoy and whatever he is up to, my studies and my personal life. But the prince is mine, mine alone and while he is an insufferable asshole most of the time, I need him in my life. Why is that so hard to understand? In a perfect world I would tell Snape all this, but he likely doesn’t care, would brush it aside like a persistent insect. If there is one person in the world who does not care one iota whether I live or die, it’s Snape. He’s almost as persistent as the prince in his behavior. Maybe that gives me the freedom to say whatever I want without caring how it effects his picture of me. He already thinks I am an idiot, so what would it change if he also thought me delusional?

“He _does_ exist,” I insist hotly, stalking over to Snape and take up my position beside him. Now we are both guarding something, it doesn’t really matter. I am almost one hundred percent sure Snape knows who the half-blood prince is and god damn it, if I won’t figure out what he knows. “ _He_ made those annotations; he wrote those insults into a potions textbook at one time.”

Snape scoffs. “Potions textbook? So that’s how you so dramatically improved your marks, Potter. I should have known you were cheating, copying the work of someone superior to you.”

I shrug. “The prince is brilliant in potions,” I admit, and why not, he truly is. It’s almost impossible to imagine someone my age having the needed insight and creativity to improve potion making in such a way, to enhance the potency of ingredients and resulting brew to such an extent. I have no problem admitting someone is better than me, I never claimed to be a potion’s prodigy. “I am not copying; he is simply a much better teacher than you ever were.”

I expect Snape to snarl but instead he curls his lips upward, there is now vicious glee dropping from every cell of his body as he leers at me. “Is that so?” he snorts. In hindsight it should have alarmed me how much he enjoyed our conversation, how relaxed he suddenly became but I was so eager to figure out the prince’s identity, that I brushed it aside. ”Careful Potter, you might not like where this thought leads you.”

“If it leads me to my prince, I am good.” My voice sounds surer than ever as I do my best to hold his gaze.

“ _Your_ prince?” Snape frowns, now there is obvious displeasure in his face. “He is not _your_ prince, Potter, just because you stumbled over a textbook and steal his ideas. How undeniably arrogant of you.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” I spit back, getting impatient myself. “It’s between the prince and me, it doesn’t have anything to do with you, Snape,” I snap.

Snape chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating in the room. “Oh, how wrong you are Potter. You know, if this weren’t so pathetic, it would almost be amusing how you somehow never make the right conclusions. One of the reasons why you will never excel in potions or any other subject that requires logical thinking.” There is now a smirk on his face, a malicious satisfaction and I just know he is going to tell me, I will finally know who the half-blood prince is. If I weren’t so greedy, I might have considered that Snape never does anything nice for me, and maybe the knowledge would not have impacted me so fiercely. “What then? What would you do with that knowledge? Why do you deserve to know, Potter? You’ve been sticking your petulant nose into other people’s business for far too long by now; clearly the half-blood prince does not want to be found or he’d simply written his name in the book, now would he?”

“You simply don’t know that,” I yell at him. It is none of his fucking business really; why did he have to be such a prick? I rarely argue with fate but the thought that Snape is the prince’s secret keeper is laughable at best, ridiculous really. I just need a name and then I figure out what to do with that knowledge, just as I always do. Would I have entered the chamber of secrets otherwise? Looked for Sirius Black? Taken on a dragon? Faced Voldemort last year in the ministry? I am rash, I dive headlong into things before I possess the required knowledge. It’s my thing, it’s stupid, sure but it’s my fucking way of dealing with stuff. I am just very Gryffindor like that.

Snape just stares at me now and I can basically see how much he detests me, but somehow he is struggling between keeping information from me that I clearly want and throwing it in my face. I should have really seen that but instead I try to plead with him, with Snape of all people. I am desperate, you see.

“Please, just give me a name,” I beg him, trying my best to sound not as pathetic and whiny as I feel. “A name is all I need and then I promise to be out of your face. For the rest of my school days if you wish.” It’s a big promise I am not sure I can keep but I am willing to give it a shot if only he tells me who the prince is.

“But you already have a name,” Snape insists as he rolls his eyes, now reminding me uncomfortably of the prince. “Should that not be enough for the famous Harry Potter to figure out the man’s identity?” Oh yes, he is enjoying this, maybe more than I’d like to admit. I just know he is going to tell me; he is just dragging it out like the miserable bastard he is. Still, if he wants to play games, I am in. Anything for my prince.

Alright, so his name is the half-blood prince. What does that tell me?

“He’s half-blood?” I ask and Snape scoff again.

“How very astute,” he drawls and walks over to pour himself a drink. “Go on, I’ll even give you a house point if you figure it out.”

I know he is mocking me but I grind my teeth; it’s no good losing my temper right now when I am so close to the treasure.

“So, that tells me he is neither pureblood nor muggleborn,” I squeeze out. To distract myself from Snape and his sneering face I begin to pace the room, if only to get rid of some pent-up energy. “Next, the name prince. It could be a reference to royalty, but that hardly makes sense if he isn’t from a pureblood family.” My thoughts are racing, tumbling over each other as they usually do when I am following a trail of thought. He is not pureblood, he is a half-blood, like me. Kind of proud of it, too if he uses it in a nickname. I like that, a lot. One of the dumbest things about the wizarding world is how much stock they put in your blood status; how important it is for some people. How irrelevant such things are in the end, considering Hermione in the brightest witch of in our year and she is muggleborn. So, I can relate to the prince in that. But what about the prince part? What does it tell me about him, his identity? Snape seems to think it should, so I try to understand how it could.

I come to a sudden halt in front of the couch as a thought strikes me out of the blue. Maybe it refers to a profession? But which one? There is no position of prince in the wizarding world, all they have is a minister of magic. So what else could it be? My head is hurting from all this thinking and I don’t feel like I am getting any closer to him.

Snape has sat down in his armchair, nursing his tumbler and seems to be enjoying himself. Of course he is, I am at his mercy, needing something from him, that’s like a wet dream for him.

I through up my hands. “I give up,” I cry as I flop down on the sofa. “He is probably half-blood, that’s all his nickname tells me. I don’t know what the prince part refers to.”

Snape huffs. “I guess no house points for Gryffindor tonight,” he says and takes another sip from his glass. “Thank merlin my expectations of you are very low as it is, Potter or I might be disappointed.”

It’s not the insult that gets to me, it’s just what Snape does, throwing backhanded slurs at me but the fact that he is keeping this information from me, knowing exactly how much I want it. So I glare at him, trying to convey just how much I despise him. Yeah buddy, this sentiment is not one-sided, I hate you just as much as you hate me.

“Prick,” I mutter no longer caring whether I lose points or get into trouble. This bastard is keeping me from my prince and I hate him for it.

“Language,” Snape admonishes me, still that infuriating smile on his face. Apparently he is still enjoying himself. “You know nothing has filled me with more pleasure than the prospect of destroying your wanking fantasies Potter. Normally, I would not even consider telling you what does not concern you but it will be beautiful payback for all the years you pestered me, for the many occasions the headmaster shielded you from my righteous scorn. I will finally put a name to your fevered dream and destroy it gladly, with your permission.”

Sudden dread fills me. I never considered it might be someone really horrible, maybe the older Malfoy. Snape is right, I wouldn’t be able to wank to that, my hatred towards Lucius is only topped by my loathing of his son. Or it could be Voldemort. Everybody always drones on how powerful he is, maybe he also was a potion’s prodigy? Ugh, I think the thought of having wanked to the snake-like monster would kill my libido forever. Still, it’s too late now, I can see it in Snape’s eyes as he leans back, malicious glee filling those black orbs. He is going to tell me now and I am no longer sure if I want to know.

“Prince refers to the author’s surname Potter,” he begins and his long, potion-stained fingers almost gently caress the glass tumbler on his armrest. “His mother was a pureblood witch named Eileen Prince, so he used her last name as a pun on the fact that as a half-blood he would be never be considered wizarding royalty.”

Oh yes, that sounds like my prince. There’s contempt and disgust dripping from the little annotations in the margins and a certain impression of smug superiority. He’d make a pun like that, absolutely.

“As you so brilliantly concluded the half-blood part refers to his blood status. His mother married a muggle and so for all intents and purposes he is a half-blood, the pureblood part being cancelled out by his muggle father.”

Snape had stopped molesting his glass for now and both hands were resting in his lap as he stares at me, his eyes as always unreadable. I can feel in the pit of my stomach that he is going to tell me with his next words and while one part wants to run and hide somewhere the other more prominent one needs to know, to finally put a face to the name. I feel trapped here on the sofa but even if the ground opened up I’d stay here, paralyzed by my own fear and desire.

“That pureblood witch, Eileen, she married the muggle Tobias Snape,” he says, his voice so quiet now that I have to strain to hear him over the drumming of my own heart. “I am the half-blood prince Potter,” he adds as I can feel my stomach dropping.

_Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, as always leave a comment if you'd like.


	6. Like a Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took so long because I had written myself into a corner, never knowing where I wanted to take this. Probably, because this started off as a oneshot and turned into a story. Apologies for that. 
> 
> Explicit warning: This chapter is darker than the others. Just wanted to give a heads-up for people who are easily triggered. Nothing explicit but mentions of suicide and depression. Tags have been updated to reflect that. Poor Harry, but things should look up soon.

I must have stared at Snape for several minutes in complete and utter shock as I absorb the information he just threw into my face. My first instinct is to downright reject it. I mean even the idea is crazy; my beautiful, mysterious prince can’t ever be the miserable bastard sitting in front of me, sipping from his glass tumbler as if he hadn’t just destroyed my whole world. And yet, the more I think about it, the more his picture begins to interlace with the prince, his dark, lanky hair, the simmering eyes, the constant smirking. Fuck, I even bestowed Snape’s voice onto my prince, the silken timbre easily recognizable if you ever were on the receiving end of the professor’s wicked tongue. Believe me, I was there a lot. 

I feel empty. It is as if Snape has stolen more from me than just my image of the prince. He stole my support system, the one thing in the world that was truly mine alone. I am dead inside, I can feel as if every last bit of happiness has been drained from by soul, like a dementor Snape might as well given me the kiss. The only emotion I can muster is hatred. God, I hate this man so much. It’s weird because I have never felt so much for a single human being as I do for my prince. I am an orphan, so all I have of my parents’ are memories, pictures, and stories. Of course, I love them but I do not consider them real people. Maybe the closest was Sirius. Man, I adored that man. I mean, I know he was an asshole at times and certainly bullied Snape when they were younger but he was the first person who could offer me a home, a real sanctuary. Then, he was taken from me. Just like the prince.

I narrow my eyes as I strain my fingers around my wand. I remember that I blamed Snape for that, I still do and now I can also attribute the loss of my prince to him. All the more reason to hate him, to want to draw out my wand and try my hand at the cruciatus curse again. Maybe it’ll work this time. That would show Bellatrix. 

My eyes flicker from one end of the room to the other. I need my prince. Not Snape, but my prince. I don’t care that they are one and the same, I need someone who got my back, someone I can trust. But I am all alone. I reckon that’s the way it’s going to be from now on, only me and me alone. I want to roar; I want to pounce Snape and ram my fist into his smug face again and again. No magic, no curse only good old-fashioned muggle violence. It would work on most wizards but Snape is part muggle, probably raised that way. So, he might be expecting that. Might even fight back. I imagine us both on the floor, wrestling for control, groaning whenever a fist connects with flesh and bone. 

Usually, I would be hard by now. This image is hot but my dick just doesn’t care. Great, did Snape also murder my libido? One more reason to kill the man. Me and my dick, we had a beautiful relationship but of course Snape needed to ruin that. God, do I want to let him pay for this but instead I just perch there on the sofa and stare at him with hate-filled eyes. 

“So,” Snape starts, as he obviously has finished his drink. “I expect you to hand over the ill-gotten book you used to cheat in your potions class.”

I clench my jaw as I try to keep myself from losing it. Over my dead body would I turn over the book, and with it my prince to the stupid bastard. He’s taken enough from me tonight. So, I simply shook my head, training my eyes on the faraway wall. 

“You are not only a fraud but also a thief,” Snape says as he watches me clench and unclench my fingers around my wand. “You are aware I could force you to hand over that book, Potter? I wonder what the headmaster would have to say if I told him about your activities of tonight. Come to think of it, I am not sure if there is an entry in the Hogwarts penal code for masturbating on one’s professor’s furniture.” He shrugs. “I guess we have to make something up then. I would assume twenty points lost would be adequate. I would assign another detention but considering your proclivities, you’d get a kick out of it.”

“From spending time with you?” I spit out. “Hardly. All that would trigger would be homicidal tendencies, Sir.”

He narrows his eyes. Good, he is supposed to know how much I hate him. I know Snape considers me to be a spoilt arrogant mirror of my father so I give him a taste of that. I ban every trace of emotion from my face and rise from the couch.

“Actually, the mere knowledge you are indeed the half-blood prince makes me shudder with revulsion.” I force an arrogant grin on my face as I lean down towards him. “We both know you are hardly wanking material on a good day Snape. There is no need to fear my proclivities, Professor; they are generally not directed at sour gits.”

Snape sneers. “How dare you talk to me like that?” He rises from the couch as well and now towers several inches above me. Prick. He enjoys this far too much but there is a limited number of things I can do about it. “No matter, I will see that the headmaster hears about this and we’ll see then how much of your arrogance is left. Now get out of my eyes and pester somebody else.”

Before I do something I am going to regret later on, like punching Snape into his ugly, sneering face, I turn around and leave the room, slamming the door behind me. Not caring about possibly running into Filch or a random teacher on patrol, I dash through the dungeons, up, up, and then into the Gryffindor tower, waking the fat lady when I slam the portrait shut. Her curses follow me up the stairs to the dorm. My bed is empty and cold as I bury myself under the choking cover. I feel dead, lost as I stare up at the canopy, trying to muster the will to sleep. My prince is nowhere to be seen. I would have given the world right this moment if I had been able to see his infuriating smirk one more time. Eventually, I drift off into a restless sleep, pining, searching for my prince. 

The next days pass in a haze. I get up, talk to my friends, pretend to eat, pretend to be more than the lifeless husk I know I am. In class, I stay silent, earning no points but also not losing any. Snape has taken to ignoring me. But that’s fine, we have nothing to say to each other. He took my Prince from me; I can never forgive that. Days turn into weeks, nothing is tangible anymore, I finally turned into the ghost I always dreaded to become. My old passions, they don’t bring me joy anymore. The people I once knew, they are immaterial, wraithlike and I- I am a specter, haunting my previous life. 

During the nights, I sleep less and less. Instead, I start to stalk Snape under the protection of my cloak. I don’t know if he realizes I am there, like a shadow, from the moment he leaves his rooms to patrol the dark corridors of the castle. It doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is that there, underneath the greasy potions master, is all I have left of my Prince, my lifeline. I never visit the Astronomy tower anymore. 

It’s one of those nights, I am sitting outside Snape’s living room, huddled under my cloak. Tonight, I followed him until he decided to visit the Astronomy tower. I almost choked when I tried to follow; instead, I darted back until I reached the safety of the dungeons. For one terrifying second I wanted to climb the Astronomy tower. I tremble, if from the cold or my fear I can’t say. 

Steps come closer, pass me and then Snape’s door is opened. A warm glow shines from inside into the corridor and stops short mere inches from me. 

“Go to bed Potter,” Snape says quietly, his voice as lifeless as I feel. Somehow, his voice triggers me, I feel consumed by fury as I jump up and with a loud roar, pounce Snape’s back. My arms close around his neck and we topple to the ground. 

“I hate you!” I scream mindlessly as my arms close around Snape’s throat, squeezing and choking. On some level I am aware I am attacking a schoolteacher, but I have long since stopped caring. All my anger, all my grieve emanates through my windpipe, leaks from each clasp of my fingers, that are curled around Snape’s throat. I almost choke on my grief, as I strangle the shadow of my Prince. 

“Po-Potter,” Snape gasps out but he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t draw his wand to save his life. Maybe that’s why I finally let go, watch him as he retches, chokes until he can breathe again. Suddenly, I am listless, my body heavy as lead. Under me I can feel Snape turning around, still taking deep breaths as if he wants to ascertain that he’s not dead. I am spread all over him, my legs entangled with his and then a first, deep sob emits from my trembling lips.

“You took him away,” I wail as tears run down my cheek. “You took my Prince away,” I whimper into Snape’s chest. The man feels rigid as stone under me, maybe he’s in shock. It’s not every day that one of your students tries to kill you. 

“Potter-“ he starts again, his voice raw from being strangled. 

A high keen interrupts him as I clasp my fingers into his robe, afraid to lose myself in misery. I haven’t felt anything in weeks, and now this surge of feelings threatens to undo me. 

“I wanted to- to follow you-“ I gasp out between sobs, my voice muffled by Snape’s chest. “Astronomy tower… j-jump,” I press out, pressing my face into the rough wool of Snape’s robe. 

Then, I feel warm arms around me and wonder for a moment who is hugging me, because surely it can’t be Snape. Not the dreary potions master. A hand cards through my hair while I sob like a three-year-old. 

“Hush,” I hear against my ear and it’s so easy to pretend it’s my Prince. “You won’t jump from the tower; I won’t let you.”

“I need my Prince,” I breathe against Snape’s neck. 

“Oh Potter,” he says quietly, his voice sounding almost sad. “The Half-Blood-Prince is nothing more than annotations in an old textbook. He existed twenty years ago but I am afraid all that’s left is me.”

I shake my head vehemently. “No, he’s still here.”

Gently, Snape turns my face so that I am forced to look into his eyes, his face blurry from all the tears. 

“Listen to me, the Half-Blood-Prince doesn’t exist, not for a long time. Or do you think you will be the same person in twenty-years?” Again, he sounds as if he desperately needs to convince himself as well. “You need to let him go, Harry. This-“ he points at me and him on the floor of his living room. “Is not healthy.”

“I need him,” I argue. 

“You suffer from a depression,” Snape diagnoses me and his tone really doesn’t allow protest. I am only glad that he keeps his arms around me, the Astronomy tower is still looming in the back of my mind. “You need to calm down, take a deep breath and then sleep.”

I want to complain but Snape already rises to his feet, fortunately picking me up as if I were light as feather. This right here, this flawed menace of a man, is all I have left of my Prince and it terrifies me. He carries me into his bedroom, tugs me under sheets that smell like the herbs he used to smoke and leaves only to return a moment later with a potion vial. Listlessly, I allow him to pour the bitter tasting brew down my throat and then stare up at his face that is so unlike him. 

“Sleep now,” he says quietly and brushes over my wet cheek. My eyelids flutter close as I drift away into dreamless sleep, leaving everything else behind.


	7. Ethereal Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real-life can be a real bitch at times. So sorry for the slow updates but here is another chapter for those of you still around.

It’s nice here, wherever I am. Warm, comfortable. I haven’t felt like this in weeks, maybe longer. My tenuous grasp of reality is much stronger here. The memories from last night hit me like a brick wall, ruthless, sudden. I tried to kill Snape. I sobbed like a toddler in his arms. For some reason, he didn’t curse me. I try to make sense of it but it all drifts away instantly, so I let it be. Maybe reality doesn’t have to make sense all the time. 

I hear a rustle next to me, the page of a book turning and when I open my eyes just the tiniest bit, I see Snape sitting in a chair next to the bed, reminding me of Hermione with his face buried in a book. Somehow, that thought makes me smile. It feels alien as if my face had forgotten how to move the muscles to produce one. Could you really forget how to smile? 

I am not sure I want to face my life right now. Maybe I can just stay here, under the covers? Just for a little while. I know they all expect me to get up and kill Voldemort eventually but surely a break is acceptable? I snuggle my cheeks into the soft fabric of the sheets and close my eyes again. The world can wait a while longer, I am sure of it. Strangely, Snape doesn’t force me to confront myself. Maybe he’s tired as well?

A while later I wake once more and still feel listless but oh so warm. It’s nice here and I decide I never want to leave. There is really nothing else waiting for me out there, no Prince, just more pain and misery. So I simply keep my eyes closed and wait. Snape is no longer sitting next to me; I can feel it without opening my eyes. I guess then it’s okay to sleep some more. I am sure he’d wake me if it weren’t. It’s Snape after all.

I drift in and out of sleep until I hear the fireplace and then steps in the living room. I hold my breath, suddenly nervous. What if Snape fetched somebody else? Pomfrey, McGonagall or Merlin forbid Dumbledore. I am not sure I can face the headmaster right now. I thought I was better but in a rush, my hearts starts hammering against my ribs, I feel cold, I can’t breathe. Someone please, help me, I can’t do this anymore.

I feel a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder, someone turns me around but I am fighting them. I don’t want to face the world, them, their demands, their hopes. But I don’t have a choice, the hands are too strong and then the bed dips when somebody sits down next to me. Gently, my head is raised and a cool vial pressed to my lips. 

“Drink this,” a soft voice mutters, his fingers curled into my hair. It’s intimate, personal. I like that. Maybe it’s alright to do as I am told after all? 

I open my lips and the potion tastes bitter as it trickles down my throat. The hand stays in my hair, never wavering. Slowly, it feels better, the terror fades and I open my eyes. It says a lot about my state of mind that I am not even surprised it’s just Snape who sits next to me on the edge of the bed, Snape who lightly steadies my head against the pillow. But he doesn’t look like Snape, not really. More like a mixture between the forbidding potions master and my Prince. His eyes, they are not cold anymore but almost warm, filled with concern but also uneasiness. We are still Potter and Snape. Nothing’s changed and yet… yet I feel my world tilted on its axis. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice calm, there’s no pressure there. 

I feel tranquil, the anxiety is gone. I think I just had a panic attack but now after the potion, I feel okay again. I nod but that doesn’t make much sense. Snape didn’t ask me a yes or no question. So, I turn my head and press my cheek against his calloused hand. I don’t trust my voice yet but Snape doesn’t seem to mind. He nods.

“Good,” he says, his eyes resting on my no doubt pitiful figure in his bed. “I talked with the headmaster and he agreed you can stay here a while longer,” he says and I feel relief. I am not ready to face the rest of the world, maybe I’ll never be. “Just rest and we’ll talk once you are better.”

I expect him to leave, to get up and return to his daily routine, classes, detentions, patrols. But then I remember it’s Saturday. Weekend. Ron, Hermione, and I wanted to visit the library to start on our Charms assignment. I wonder if somebody told them about me. That I have lost it. Mr Weasley, I am sorry to inform you that your friend, Mr Potter, has gone bat-shit crazy. I can see Professor McGonagall, how her face scrunches up when she relates the tale of the boy-who-lived, the chosen one who lost his marbles. 

I giggle softly, it’s funny in a bizarre way. Like so many things about my life. Snape doesn’t chide me, he just sighs but stays where he is, keeping his hand against my cheek. Good, please don’t leave. Reality is a scary place; I couldn’t deal with it alone. I readily surrender to sleep with Snape’s warm hand still against my face. 

The scent of food wakes me up next, and almost immediately my stomach begins to rumble. I open my eyes and see Snape carrying a huge tray filled with plates and bowls. It’s placed on a table to the side, with two chairs that look comfy and welcoming. I hesitate, still snuggled into my sheets. Somehow they turned from Snape’s sheets to mine in the course of a day. I blink at him owlishly until he walks over, takes something from the night table and then I can feel my glasses on my nose. 

The world comes into focus and I am not sure I like that. Snape walks back to the table with our food and sits down, pouring pumpkin juice into our glasses. It’s then that I notice he isn’t wearing his robes, just black slacks, and a white shirt. Somehow, Snape without his robes bothers me. No logical reason for that, perhaps only that it would be akin to Dumbledore without his glasses. Preposterous really. 

I watch Snape as he sips from his juice and expect him any minute to order me out of bed but he just starts to eat. My stomach rumbles again, reminding me that I haven’t eaten in close to 24 hours. It smells really good, like vegetables and spices and then I see the treacle tart on the tray. My decision is made right there and then. I carefully extricate myself from the sheets and finally leave my safe harbour. Snape doesn’t turn or even acknowledge me in any way. I could be a ghost as far as he is concerned, ethereal, otherworldly. 

I cross the room, still in my PJs and sit down in the cushy wingback. For a short moment, Snape looks up, nods but then returns to cutting his turkey. Apparently, he doesn’t expect anything from me right now, no conversation, not even that I eat. It feels… nice. No expectations, no pressure. 

I take the glass and down the juice in one go. It tastes heavenly and I can’t help a content sigh as I place it back on the table. Supper, surely it must be evening by now, consists of a vegetable broth with some bread, turkey and brussels sprouts and a mouth-watering treacle tart with strawberries and cream. Suddenly, I feel ravished, like I am a newly hedged fledgeling and I haven’t eaten since my birth. After another quick glance at Snape, who ignores me, I start spooning my broth, dipping my still warm bread into it. It tastes divine, warm and filling. 

Now and then, I look up and watch Snape, as he methodically eats his turkey and washes it down with pumpkin juice. He doesn’t initiate a conversation and I am grateful. I don’t trust my voice yet and so I rather empty my plate full of turkey and vegs. At last, there are only the treacle tarts and I cast another glance at Snape, trying to judge if it’s alright to take some. 

“It’s all yours,” Snape says without looking up as he finishes his soup. In the light from the fireplace, his face appears partway covered in shadows and bathed in light. Just like the man himself. Firmly rooted on both sides of this conflict, as Dumbledore’s spy. 

The tart tastes sweet and I dip the strawberries into the cream, spooning it all up until the plate is empty and my stomach pleading for mercy. I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes as I listen to the crackling of the fire and the sounds from Snape as he turns the pages of his newspaper. The tray was banished and now there is a set of cups and steaming pot of tea. It occurs to me that this might be Snape’s routine. After a long day of teaching classes, assigning detentions, takings house points, he might sit in front of the fireplace and peruse the Daily Prophet with a cup of tea. It feels intimate as if I am intruding.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, keeping my eyes closed. Another page is turned and then the noise of the cup as it’s placed back on the saucer.

“What for?” 

I shrug. “For intruding,” I finally end up saying.

Snape only hums. He doesn’t sound bothered by it. 

“For trying to kill you,” I add, remembering my hands around Snape's neck and feeling guilty.

Snape snorts. “I was never in any danger from you,” Snape retorts and it’s not really clear if he means he could have fought back or that I would not have seen it through. In any way, it sounds nice. Another weight off my back.

“When are you going to kick me out?” I ask opening my eyes. Snape still reads the newspaper, his face partly covered by it.

“When you’re ready,” Snape replies. 

“I might never be.” It sounds bleary, bleak. 

Now Snape looks up, his black eyes still retaining some of the warmth from the last day but looking infinitely more like himself. A depth to drown me in. 

“You will be,” he insists and then returns to his reading. “If you feel up to it, you could start your Charms homework.” It’s merely a suggestion, no force behind it. The future is wide open even though it really isn’t. Outside these rooms, there is the boy-who-lived waiting to accost me again. But here, I am safe. 

There is a scroll of parchment, quill and ink and my Charms textbook next to the fireplace on a side table. They look daunting, ready to swallow me if I approach. 

“Maybe later,” I mutter, closing my eyes again. Snape only grunts in approval and once again the crackling of the fire is the only sound filling the room. 

I must have dozed off because the next thing I know is being nudged on my shoulder. Snape looms above me, the fire only glowing embers by now.

“The bed would probably be more comfortable,” Snape suggests and I only blink at him, still befuddled by sleep. Snape sighs. He picks me up and carries me to the bed, tugging the sheets around me. “Tomorrow you will have to take a shower,” he mutters as he takes off my glasses.

I nod, already tired again. I close my eyes and drift off into sleep, while Snape stands next to my bed and watches me.

“Sleep well, Potter.” It sounds almost like the Prince.


	8. A New Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, a new chapter and the plot gets moving. Because, yeah this thing has something akin to a plot. Thank you for those of you who are still around, leave comments and kudos. This means the world to me.

The thing about my nightmares is that I am usually aware that I am dreaming. Now, you’d think that this would make me less afraid but that’s not true. Most of my dreams feature a lot of Voldemort, Death Eaters and all the people I lost over the years. In most of them, I am faced with my own ineptitude, my failures. And I am all alone.

I jerk awake from another one where Cedric wasn’t instantly killed. Instead, Voldemort kept him around to torture him after he stepped out of the bubbling cauldron. A plaything for his Death Eaters to enjoy. My forehead, neck, my whole body is covered in sweat, sticky and cold in the chilliness of the dungeon. I can hear my own ragged breath as I sit up, blood thrumming in my ears. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. 

It’s dark in Snape’s bedroom and I am once again all alone. Literally and figuratively. Before the Prince was taken from me, at least I could count on him to keep me from losing my fucking mind. But he’s gone now, never to return. In his place, there’s now only his twenty-year-older self, a scowling potions master who for some weird reason is taking care of his most hated student. Probably, on Dumbledore’s orders. 

My cheeks are wet as I brush my soggy hair out of my face. Did I cry? I rarely do, there never seems to be a lot of tears left. I feel like my soul is tainted since that abandoned graveyard in Little Hangleton, my heart bloody and poisoned by Voldemort’s venom coursing through my veins. But I must have cried this time, here in this strangely soft and hospitable bed. 

I am still wearing my PJs, the same ones from yesterday but they must have been cleaned with a quick spell in the meantime. Now, after another round of torturous memories infused with crippling nightmares, they are soggy and feel alien on my clammy skin. 

As I swing my legs out I try to get a grip on myself. There’s no need to lose it completely, nothing’s changed. Quite frankly, I am not worse off than yesterday, or the day before, or last year. Logically, I know that the Prince was never real, a figment of my overheated imagination. My fears are real, Voldemort is out there planning and scheming, waiting to make the first move in this convoluted chess game. But the Prince is only another way for me to hide. From all the expectations, all the hopes of the wizarding world pinned on a teenager. I joke around with Hermione about being the chosen one but the truth it, it terrifies me. Because I suck. I am close to breaking here, just barely hanging on. 

I find my glasses on the night table and put them on. Finally, the world comes into focus. The fireplace on the other side of the room is out, only glowing embers left that illuminate that side of the room. I am here sitting in darkness and it suits me. 

We all know why you need him so badly, why you need to hide behind the Prince. I press my hands against the sockets of my eyes so tightly, I see little stars. Of course, they all know. I know. Perhaps Snape knows. I am much less of a mystery than I am comfortable with. 

From the sitting room, a warm glow shines into the room, valiantly skirmishing with the darkness. As I step out for a moment I imagine being thrown into purgatory but then I only see Dumbledore sitting on the couch where I recently masturbated. I am close to a nervous chuckle but instead, I face the headmaster’s blue eyes. 

“Good morning Harry,” he says with a warm smile. “Come, have a cup of tea with me.” I notice that he looks exactly as he has done in the last six years, long white beard, twinkling eyes and sipping from a steaming cup of tea. Probably laced with an obscene amount of sugar. That man has a sweet tooth if there ever was one. 

I walk over, drop down on the sofa, and accept my tea quietly. It’s probably laced with a calming draught, but I still take a sip. It’s not as if I have much of a choice. 

“How are you feeling?” Dumbledore asks as he takes a bite from a slice of toast. Snape’s coffee table is littered with teacups, plates overflowing with scrambled eggs and bacon and a basket with toast. 

“I am fine,” I say, my voice firmer than I expected. And it’s true. In the harsh light of day, my antics from yesterday, my attack on Snape, the depression, they are all no longer threatening to swallow me. Perhaps I needed the breakdown. I was like my teacup, overflowing with fear and loneliness. Who’d have thought that Snape of all people could assist me with letting some of it bubble over without harming myself in the process?

Dumbledore nods, his eyes on my face for a moment. “I am glad to hear that,” he answers as he leans back. For a while we both stay silent, me dangling my naked feet over the edge of the sofa, oddly carefree, sipping from my tea. The headmaster hums softly as he refills his cup, obviously not in a hurry to be anywhere else. I remember it’s Sunday then, he probably has the day off as well. In the laziness of my mind, I wonder where Snape is. No classes, no obligations, that should be true for him as well. 

“Do you think Voldemort feels anything?” My voice sounds pensive, calm. I did not plan to ask that question, truthfully until the words leave my lips I had no idea I was even wondering about whether my manic enemy is capable of feeling anything at all.

Dumbledore strokes his white beard as he contemplates that. “I reckon he is capable but too scared to face any of them, except perhaps hatred and sadistic pleasure. I don’t have to tell you, Harry, that emotions are one of humankind’s greatest treasures, capable of providing an endless trove of joy and solace. But with the joy comes sadness, with love comes hurt, we cannot experience one without the other. It takes great strength in my mind to face the kaleidoscope of sentiments every day without going completely barmy.” There is a warmth in his eyes, a soft smile on his features that reminds me once again why I have not strangled the man so far. He might be a manipulative schemer but he cares for me, does not want to harm me even if for Dumbledore sometimes the ends justify the means in this decade-long battle with Voldemort.

I sigh. “I attacked Professor Snape,” I admit, maybe because I desire punishment after Snape just waved it away.

“I am aware,” the headmaster replies but the warmth never leaves his eyes. “I am not only here to check on you my dear boy but to apologize,” he adds after a short pause.

“Apologize? Why?” I sound aghast. It’s not Dumbledore’s fault that I can’t cope with being the boy-who-lived.

“Because sometimes Harry we grown-ups forget how fragile children are. Yes-“ he stops my protest with a broad smile. “-I am aware you are almost an adult yourself but you were only a toddler when the whole wizarding world decided that you would be their saviour, loaded your tiny shoulders with the weight of our world. I spent the last six year trying to prepare you to face Tom one day, strengthened your resolve so that one day you could truly relieve us all from his tyranny. But I never considered how unfair this assumption was, this expectation that one of us, however gifted, should sacrifice their life, their happiness to single-handedly do what in truth should be a common effort. Thank the light it is not too late to rectify my mistake.”

“Rectify?” I frown. 

“I had a plan Harry, a quite daring one that would rest the weight of this war on your shoulders, perhaps only to be shared by your two friends. However, I have come to the realization that perhaps another path should be taken, because rest assured the true war will start soon. Then, Hogwarts will have to close because in my new plan I have nobody to trust the safety of the children with. New headquarters will be needed, new leadership, a battle plan so that we can destroy what chains Tom to this world so that he can be vanquished.” 

I want to ask a thousand questions but Dumbledore raises his hand and then places it on my shoulders. It’s warm, a little calloused and sears through my flimsy shirt. 

“In due time I will explain everything to you, to all those who will help you in your task but not right now.” He squeezes my shoulder and then leans back, returning to his tea. “Rest assured that you will not have to carry the burden alone anymore, you might be the chosen one but will never be forced to stand alone. In the next weeks, I want you to enjoy yourself, to celebrate Christmas with your friends, I want you to cherish your freedom because at the end of this year the true war will start.”

“But Malfoy is-“

“-planning something, I know.” Dumbledore appears amused. “Actually, he is planning to murder me, Harry, not because he wants to but because a recent shake-up in the death eater’s ranks have forced him to accept a task he is destined to fail. Please, do not trouble yourself with this anymore. I have someone to keep an eye on Mr Malfoy and perhaps we can save another soul from being destroyed by this ruthless war. In the meantime, we will discontinue our little sessions and I will share with you all I know in the new year. Until then, try to be a teenager for once, without the constant threat of the world ending dangling in front of you all the time.”

“According to what you just told me, the world does seem to end soon,” I insist. 

Dumbledore guffaws, his laughter warm and deep. “Ah yes, my boy but it is no longer your burden to carry alone. I have my eyes on Mr Malfoy and I promise you there is no harm in ignoring the coming war for a couple of weeks. In the new year, I will assemble the Order, my colleagues and reveal all I know, including a new plan for all of us to work together, to end the tyranny of Tom Riddle once and for all. That I promise you and my word is my bond.”

I feel mountains begin to slide off my shoulder, I slump into the cushions of the sofa and exhale. I felt never more filled with gratitude than right now and it shows as I look up into the headmaster’s kind face. 

“There’s stuff I won’t like,” I say, not really a question.

Dumbledore nods. “Yes, as always in life. Next year, there will be plenty of time to deal with all of it but right now I want you to enjoy your life.”

I feel conflicted. Part of me wants to repay Snape’s kindness of the last days with trust but can I really keep from mentioning my suspicion that the Slytherin is helping Malfoy? 

“About Professor Snape-“ I start but don’t get any further when Dumbledore interrupts me.

“Ah yes, I have to admit I was happy for you to never completely trust Severus but after the last two days, I presume your judgement of him is conflicted. You must wonder how someone who supposedly hates you, allows you to recover from your distress without murdering you in the process. I had my reasons to never allow anyone to completely trust my potions master which wasn’t particularly fair to him either.” Dumbledore places his empty teacup on the coffee table and then looks at me, his gaze earnest and open. 

“I need you to know Harry that I would trust Severus with my life. Not always, it took years for me to believe his change of heart was more than just a Slytherin way of self-preservation. Much of his story is not mine to tell, perhaps he will share it with you sometime but the reason Severus crossed over to our side was fear. Not for himself, but for someone he loved dearly. Someone he lost, which caused him to take a good long look at his life’s choices and then change. I am sure I don’t have to tell you that he is a difficult character, holds grudges longer than anyone else I know. His soul is maimed, not from using the killing curse but from how others have treated him over the course of his lifetime. Still, Severus is able to care, to love however much he despises himself for it. He did not allow you to recover here because I ordered him to, not even because of his duty as a teacher of yours. In fact, he noticed your behaviour weeks ago and kept a close eye on you. Once you broke down, he sheltered you, perhaps because he saw a part of himself in you, was reminded how when he was in distress, nobody was there to provide comfort except Tom.”

I remember how he tugged me in, how he offered refuge for a weekend and I find it so hard to match that with the cruel way he destroyed my Prince, how he seemed to delight in my torment. My considerations must have shown on my face because Dumbledore nods as if I said something. 

“As I said Severus is a complicated man, especially when it comes to you. He would die a gruesome death before he admitted anything but animosity for you but then his actions tell a different story, follow a different path. All these years, he did his best to protect you, I am convinced if he had to, he would have sacrificed his life for you in a heartbeat. Then again, he turned around and bullied you just the same as he was bullied by your father and his friends. He shows most people the kind of contempt his own father showed him but then he makes sure all the teachers have access to hang-over potions on New Years Day. He acts as if he doesn’t care about any of his colleagues but then will go to great lengths to make all of our lives easier. I sometimes wonder how Severus would have turned out if he had been raised in a loving, nurturing household.”

Considering the headmaster’s words for a moment, I am fairly sure he would have had a higher chance to resist Tom’s malevolent ideas. Would he have joined the death eaters if he had known someone had his back, someone who didn’t want his soul in return? Perhaps it’s impossible to say but I’d like to believe that. I’d like to imagine that there is good in Severus Snape, that he is truly more than the uncaring bastard because I am beginning to understand that sooner or later he will be one of the people having my back.

“You are aware I have a thousand questions?” I ask with a dry smile. 

Dumbledore returns the smile. “I am and all will be revealed after the Christmas break. Until then, go back to your life, cherish your friends and be as normal an adolescent as you can. Leave the war to us grown-ups for once, as it should be.”

After that we finish our tea together, sunlight streaming in from an enchanted window that appears to be overlooking the castle grounds. White clouds lazily drift over the deep blue sky and for a moment I want to stay here forever, here in Snape’s sitting room, sharing a cup of tea with Dumbledore. This moment, it feels fragile, fleeting and I want to hold it tight, string it to the wooden legs of the sofa. A dark omen presses onto my chest, tucks at my heart until I bury my face into the soft cushions of the sofa. Everything is going to be alright. Dumbledore said so. He has a plan, a new one. It will be alright, all of it. It has to be.


	9. That's what Friends are for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on a row, so here is another one. Just don't expect me to update daily now, please. I give what I have when I get it done. 
> 
> I updated the tags, so please pay attention to them. Hope you like and once again, thank you so much for comments, kudos and bookmarks. From the bottom of my heart.

Turns out going back to my life as I knew it was easier than I thought. After finishing breakfast with Dumbledore, I left Snape’s quarters without seeing the man again. In Gryffindor tower, I find Ron, who was lounging in one of the massive armchairs, his feet dangling over the side and Hermione buried in one of her textbooks. This looks so familiar that for one short moment it almost chokes me with a feeling of belonging. This, my two best friends in the world, this tower, this whole castle, it’s my home, the one true safe harbour. I remember Dumbledore saying the school will need to close next year and the thought of having to leave, to never come back here, breaks my heart. 

Ron is the first to notice me, a broad smile appearing on his face as jumps up. “Already done with your detention?” he asks with a grin.

“Ehm, yeah,” I answer, wondering what McGonagall told my friends about where I was. I flop down next to Hermione, who looks up, smiles at me warmly and then squeezes my arm. I twist to make out the title of her book- Advanced Numerology. I remember the mountain of homework left to do and feel an oncoming headache.

Ron pulls a face. “Snape is a real git for assigning such long detention,” he says as he pulls on a thread from the cushions. ”Honestly, no other teacher would get away with something like this. Made a stink with McGonagall about it when she told us but she insisted Snape was entitled to hand out disciplinary action as he sees fit. Bullocks if you ask me.”

I hum in agreement and rest my head on the backrest of the sofa. The fire is crackling in the fireplace, Hermione turns the pages of her book from time and Ron has started a heated discussion with Seamus about the Chudley Cannons and their chances to win the cup this year. Once again, Snape had been forced to take the fall in this. Even though he sheltered me in his personal quarters, to the outside world it looked as if he had inflicted unusual punishment on me. Apparently, everybody believed it without question. And why not? Snape has been a downright git for more than a decade. He singled me out from the beginning, bullied and harassed me for years and only recently he took my prince from me. So what, if he was actually nice for one frigging weekend? I try to muster my anger, wear it like a shield so that the memory of Snape tugging me in doesn’t follow me into the Gryffindor dormitory. 

I must have dozed off because I wake up later, a warm blanket tucked over me and a note from Ron, that they would start training without me. I remember I scheduled a training session, more for the team’s benefit and on their insistence, not because I cared much. But then again, I was a ghost the last weeks, only recently did I feel like a proper person again. I yawn, deeply and from the heart as I try to remember when I had the last good night’s sleep. I was roaming the corridors for weeks now, following Snape under the covers of my cloak, trying to find my prince again.

A plate with ham and cheese sandwiches appears next to me and my stomach decides to take this moment to complain. It’s strange, I have eaten breakfast this morning but I am starving again so I gulp down the sandwiches and then wash it down with a glass of pumpkin juice. I cast a quick Tempus and see I can still head over to the quidditch pitch to join my mates. Suddenly, the urge to leave the castle, get on my broom and soar through the skies, free like a bird, rush through my body and settles in my chest. Might as well go, homework can wait till later.

*

I regret my spontaneous decision in the afternoon when I sit hunched over my charms assignment, quill in hand and no frigging idea what I am supposed to write. I can’t even remember what topic we are supposed to cover. I remember sitting in classes but I stopped caring long ago, the words of my teachers droning on and on, over my head and out of the window. 

I sigh and peek over to Ron, who has fallen asleep over his own piece of parchment, snoring softly. Well, no help from there. Hermione sits next to me and is filling out a chart with runes, her hand almost caressing the parchment, the quill that gently applies applications of her knowledge to the parchment. She looks almost content, happy in a way, the way I looked hours ago when I was chasing the snitch through the chilly air. 

She looks up when she feels the weight of my stare on her and cocks a bushy brow. I chuckle softly, careful not to wake my sleeping friends across the table. 

“You look so happy,” I whisper. “You truly adore all of this,” I add, waving my hand over us three, the desk littered with spare pieces of parchment, ink bottles and quills, an empty chocolate frog wrapper. “All the stuff you learn, even this,” I say pointing towards the chart.

Hermione frowns. “Of course, I do,” she says and then places the quill back into the ink bottle. “You know I love to learn, to apply what I learn to my studies.” She glances at his empty parchment. “I thought this would interest you more, to be honest. I am aware magical theory sounds pretty boring but it’s important to understand how we access magic, how it’s wielded, shaped, tempered. Our magical core is what sets us apart from muggles after all but I find too few wizards or witches want to understand how it works. Perhaps because it kills the mystery, perhaps they hate the possibility that magic is not innate but must be harnessed, nurtured, no matter how pure your blood, how powerful your core is. I, for one, find it fascinating, it helps me to understand a part of myself better.”

I smile and squeeze her hand. “You sound like Snape when he talked about the dark arts in our first class this year.”

Hermione is not offended but returns the smile. “Perhaps,” she says quietly. “I understand passion for parts of the magical arts, even if I do not agree with Professor Snape’s teaching methods. He is highly competent in Defense though, just not in properly instructing his students.”

“Yeah,” I agree because whoever could disagree with Snape being a rotten teacher? No matter how gently he tucks me in, how beautiful my name, a soft-spoken Harry sounds from his lips, almost a prayer in the darkness of his bedroom. Fuck. I need to not go there. Like never because my prick stirred at the memory and everybody and their mother knows that pricks should never react to Severus Snape. Especially not mine. Perhaps I only shifted my obsession with the prince to him? I feel better with this thought, somehow. Returning to my present dilemma and the empty parchment in front of me, I put on my puppy expression. Yeah, I have a puppy expression, shoot me. I even use it but only in dire circumstances, emergencies like right now. I see nothing wrong with it, it is my superpower after all. Just like Ron’s stupid jokes or Hermione’s brain. So what, if mine is a puppy face?

“About that-“ I start but Hermione rolls her eyes.

“Let me guess, you have no idea what you are supposed to write about, you haven’t been properly paying attention in the last weeks and now you need help in finishing your assignment because you just realized the deadline is hastily approaching?” She purses her lips. “Did I get it right?”

At this moment Hermione, her voice, her expression, reminds me so much of Snape it does something funny to my insides. Not his bad side, the one I like about him. Sassy wit, sharp tongue, barely concealed will to help if one only finds the right words to unlock the gates. I want to grin, I want to pull the girl next to me close and then express my undying affection for her but instead, I try to look chastised, apologetic.

“You did,” I say quietly, still keeping the wide eyes, the downwards tugged eyebrows, and the slightly trembling lip. 

Hermione huffs but there is a warm expression in her face, that she doesn’t want me to see but I know it’s there. She’ll help me, she always does. 

“Oh, stop the puppy eyes!” she says, her voice sharp as a whip. Ron stirs across the table, his tongue snatching out, catching the dribble of spit on his chin. He is disgusting, that one but I adore him, nevertheless. Nobody has my back like Ron, can cheer me up when I am in one of these moods. 

“Oi, Harry must be in a real pinch if he does the puppy eyes,” Ron says as he cracks open his eyes and tries to relieve the tension in his back from being hunched over the table.

Hermione huffs again and quickly snatches the crumbled parchment that has been Ron’s pillow for a while. 

“Honestly, sometimes I don’t know why I bother with you two,” she mutters under her breath as she smooths the long-suffering parchment with her hand. “Magical core theory,” she says then, looking up with a soft expression. “You’ll find the information you need in chapter 4. We are supposed to write six inches on core reactions to different magical schools.” Her eyes are already back at Ron’s assignment, her quill quickly correcting mistakes, making annotations as she continues to mutter to herself. 

Ron winks at me and then watches Hermione with a soft expression as she gets his assignment up to speed. I know deep down that those two will end up together, make each other crazily happy and simultaneously lose their minds over each other. It’s the way it’s supposed to be and it makes me insanely happy as well. I wish nothing but delight to my two best friends. 

Turning to my charms textbook, I turn to chapter 4 and really, there is everything I could ever want to know about core theory waiting for me. Resigning myself to several hours of torture I start to read, making notes on a piece of spare parchment. It is not completely uninteresting, some of it quite fascinating but truthfully I’d rather be in the common room, playing exploding snap with Ron. 

“Once you are done, I’ll look over it,” Hermione says and pushes a rolled piece of parchment over to me. “Here, that’s my essay. Feel free to get some inspiration but do not dare to copy it.” She still sounds grumpy and anyone who might not know Hermione as well as Ron and I do might think her downright rude. Me and my best mate, we’ll know though. Hermione really puts up with a lot from us, we’ll all do in the end, we are just so different. But in the end, we will always help each other out, support and push because that’s what friends are for. 

“Thanks, Mione,” I say still scribbling my notes on a slowly filling piece of parchment. “You are the best.”

Ron nods in agreement as he carefully closes the ink bottle Hermione just used. We all remember when she accidentally toppled over her vial and spilt ink all over her transfiguration textbook in third year. She cried for several hours back then even though Ron cleaned the book with a flick of his wand. Books are sacred for her, that’s just how it is, and perhaps that’s why even Ron and I treasure them in secret. 

“You truly are,” he says softly as he gently tucks a stray hair curl that parted from her bun behind her ear.

Hermione blushes just the tiniest but otherwise keeps her composure. There are no more words needed for her to know how much we appreciate her patience and support, just as we know she’d never let us fail in any of our subjects, or life in general. Failure is just no option for Hermione Granger, thank you very much. If I believe I might somehow survive this war, it’s because Hermione wouldn’t accept anything else.

The next two hours are spent with me slowly composing my essay on magical cores, Ron revising his assignment incorporating Hermione’s annotations and Hermione resuming to fill out her chart only to then start some seriously complicated equations. More chocolate frogs are shared, Hermione grades my essay and corrects my mistakes, saving me from another hour of editing and Ron and I draw unflattering images of Malfoy on a spare piece of parchment. 

When we walk down to the great hall for supper later, we all feel tired but accomplished. Assignments are done, equations as well and now the fun part of the evening can begin. According to Ron, we have a little celebration later because it’s Dean’s birthday and he smuggled in some brandy from home. Ron says he’s going to get wasted, Hermione rolls her eyes and I simply feel so grateful to have all these amazing people in my life. 

Thoughts of the astronomy tower are far away this evening. Instead, I curl up next to Ron, whose cheeks are pink as he sips from the brandy, Hermione rests her head on my shoulder as she steadfastly refuses to drink- it’s against the rules and Hermione never violates Hogwarts’ school rules. I, however, have no such reservations and so sip on my own glass of brandy as I listen to the happy chatter around me. 

Ginny is in Dean’s lap and I feel like it should bother me, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking but her being where she makes me happy. Because I don’t want her in my lap and I have a feeling if Ginny and Dean ever break up, she might set her sights on my lap. The thought disturbs me but another sip from the burning brandy washes it away. Later, we’ll think about this later.

Much later a couple of us play strip poker, something Seamus insisted on. Hermione refuses, so does Ginny but the guys all join in. It’s fun, we all giggle a lot, including the girls who roll their eyes as Ron sits proudly in his Chudley Cannons briefs and Seamus covers his bare lap with a pillow. Suffice to say, I eventually end up almost fully unclothed and Hermione, always the prudent one, drapes a blanket over my shoulders. I flash her a broad smile, snicker when she rolls her eyes and then watch Dean remove his underpants as well. It’s hilarious and in the end, Ron wins when he is the last one with his briefs on.

I don’t remember it but Ron tells me the next morning that he helped me up the stairs and into my bed, while Hermione softly chided us for our intoxication. Apparently, I giggled the whole time, even when I was snuggled up in my bed. I ask Ron if he likes my bum, Ron utterly wasted himself professes I have the tightest ass ever and he adores it and then staggers over to his own bed.

Seamus and Dean are already sleeping, Neville walks in, singing a soft song as he naked as the day he was born jumps on his bed only to pass out. Ron looks up, pulls himself together and then drags the blanket over Neville’s snoring form, muttering something about asses freezing off during the night. Eventually, we are all inside our warm, snuggly beds, on the precipice of sleep when I notice I didn’t think about the prince much. The thought of having lost him still fills me with sadness but I can’t help but remind myself that I have my friends. I am not all alone. I even have the 20-year-older, 100% real, no figment of my imagination part of the prince but I chase thoughts like this away because they make me hard. You don’t get hard thinking about Snape, no Sir. 

Of course, the next day, we’ll have hangovers, groan, and complain and our classes feel like torture because, fuck those bastards, the teachers know and they delight in tormenting us. There is no other explanation for Flitwick’s high voice otherwise or how he squeals and jumps up and down. Nobody is ever this excited about Magical Core Theory. The afternoon is potions and Snape, who is filling in for Slughorn, makes sure we have to cut ingredients that are hard enough so that our knives make disgusting noises as they make short work of them. The room is filled with Gryffindors sporting greenish skin and poor Neville even pukes into his cauldron. Seamus accidentally sets his potion on fire and Snape let us know how pathetic we all are. All in all, the class is not too different from our usual so I am not too bothered about it, even if I lose our house five points for spilling my potion when I take it to Snape’s desk. I swear, my feet trip over themselves on purpose only to make me look like a fool in front of Snape. 

Much later, before curfew but after supper I find myself on the astronomy tower, the November wind blowing in my face, helping with the persistent headache. I am safe now or I wouldn’t be here. Part of me is not surprised when Snape joins me, stares at me, and then takes out his pipe. He leans against the railing and exhales intricate steam clouds into the night. 

“Still got a headache, Potter?” he asks quietly. I nod in misery and hope for some help, surely the man has a potion but Snape just smirks. “Serves you right.”

I chuckle. “You are a peach you know?”

Snape shrugs. “Learn to hold your drink better.”

“Perhaps I need to drink more so I get better,” I suggest in jest, even if right now I swear to never touch alcohol ever again in my life.

Snape just huffs but there is an amused expression on his face. Nothing more is said as we stand next to each other until Snape pockets his pipe and turns to leave.

“You have ten minutes until curfew,” he says without turning around from the door. “I trust you walk straight to your dorm from here?”

I nod with a yawn. “Yeah, I am knackered.” I join him inside and then we walk to the staircase where our paths separate. Before we reach the junction, I place my hand on his arm. It feels warm, wiry under the soft cloth of his robe. Snape’s face is unreadable as he waits for me to explain why I am daring to touch him. He doesn’t rip my head off right away, so I’d like to think we’d come a long way, the two of us. “Thanks for letting me stay over the weekend,” I say quietly but in the stillness of the night, my words are easy to make out. “I needed that, I reckon, to not have to deal with anything for a while. I just want you to know that I appreciate that and will not forget it, Sir.”

I know how much Snape craves respect and therefore I address him politely. I don’t want to rattle him; I just want him to know that this Potter has his back once the craziness starts. Despite everything.

Snape’s face stays unmoving but something shifts in his eyes. Maybe it’s the expression of constant annoyance, the one that’s been there since the first time I walked into the great hall. It shifts into something else. I wouldn’t call it sympathy but it’s as far from hostility as we are both comfortable with. Which is not a lot.

“I-“ he hesitates and then crosses his arms over his chest. “-appreciate that.” He stares at me some more, his eyes simmering with whatever they shifted into. I don’t look away, just nod as we both obviously buried most of the hatchet a moment ago. We are no friends, not even comrades but perhaps one day we might be. 

“Good night Sir,” I say with another nod and then when Snape makes no move to say something, turn around and walk up the stairs. Maybe the quiet “Good night, Potter,” was a figment of my imagination, perhaps I wanted him to say it but I like to believe he truly did. 

The astronomy tower feels like a thousand miles away tonight as I watch Ron destroy Seamus in a long-anticipated chess game. I can’t even see the top anymore.


	10. Consent and Agency

For about two weeks everything was peaceful, almost idyllic. The grounds slowly started to be sprinkled with snow, ice crystals appeared on archways, under windowsills and whenever we walked down the gravel path that led to the quidditch pitch, the snow crunched under our warm winter boots. I have a lot to catch up on in all my classes but Hermione was kind enough to help me, even going as far as setting up a study plan for me. On the bright side, it means that according to Hermione’s schedule I will be completely caught up by the time the Christmas holidays start. What a merry thought, indeed. 

Hermione and Ron got along splendidly, with Ron watching her with sappy expressions and making stupid jokes, and Hermione ignoring it, rolling her eyes but secretly fairly pleased with it. It was nice returning to a routine of attending classes, trying as best as I can to ignore Malfoy and what he’s up to and spending the evenings in our common room, having a great time with my friends. I can literally feel how relieved not only Ron and Hermione but also my teachers are. For the first time in months, perhaps years I get deep, uninterrupted nights of sleep and wake up bright and early to start the day. The food is good, we win our match against Ravenclaw, I even hum at times when I walk down the stairs. I can’t help but wonder if this is how my life would feel if Voldemort had never applied this stupid prophecy to me? In any way, it’s close to perfect but those things can’t last, at least not for me, no Sir.

It was precisely two weeks after my talk with Dumbledore, a fortnight after the epiphany about how much I adore my friends and the frightening realization how dependent my mental health is on all of us getting along when it all went sideways. Of course. And the reason for it was Ginny. And her snogging. Yeah, in future when a mind healer is going to ask me, ‘Mr. Potter, when do you think you went off your rocker?’ I am going to pause, sigh and then say, ‘Healer, it’s all Ginny’s fault. And Dean’s. And the fact that they did not get a room.’ 

But let’s start from the beginning. It was on a Sunday after practice, and Ron and I were walking down the gravel path from the pitch, sweaty but happy, in our muddy uniforms. Somehow the training session ended up with everybody on the ground and throwing snowballs mixed with mud from the ground into each other’s faces. And a lot of rolling in the mud as we gave each other a face wash. In our defence, we were still giddy from our victory against Ravenclaw a day before. 

It's quite late, Ron and I stayed behind to practice on his keeper skills. I am not a chaser but have to admit it was fun trying to hit Ron in the face with the Quaffle. To his credit, I only managed once when he was distracted by a flock of owls returning from their hunting trip to the forbidden forest. So, we were tired, sweaty and on our way to the common room, when Ron suddenly froze in the middle of the corridor, his face turning an unattractive shade of pink. My eyes follow his and I see one part of the Ginny-Dean-pairing as they are snogging behind a tapestry. It’s Ginny who sticks halfway out from the little carpet, her red hair ruffled but clothes properly in place. Judging from the noises coming from behind the tapestry she thrusts her tongue into our dorm mate’s wet mouth, eliciting soft moans from both of them.

The scene does nothing to me, nothing at all. It’s like watching a documentary about the love life of birds or some weirdly shaped fish in the sea. Not that Ginny or Dean are weirdly shaped- they are both perfectly fine human beings, none of them unattractive. However, standing there and watching them while Ron tries to get over his shock, I am indifferent. I can’t say I am surprised, I had my suspicions before but this right here proves to me beyond the shadow a doubt that first, I am not into Ginny at all, she’s like a little sister to me and second, girls don’t do anything for me, full stop. As I come to grips with this sudden proof of a long-held suspicion, Ron explodes next to me.

“You berk!” he yells as he drags a dumbfounded Dean out from behind the tapestry, rudely interrupting the snogging session that he, judging from the bulge in his trousers, hoped would lead to something more. Ron, however, is not considerate of that at all and instead jostles Dean around as he starts to berate him. “How dare you assault my sister like this! Keep your tongue out of her mouth, will you?”

Dean just stares at Ron, his eyes ripped open as he tries to flip his attention from his prick to the irate redhead towering above him. Fuck, when did Ron grow so much?

Behind Ron’s back, Ginny has eventually recovered from her surprise and starts to stalk over to her brother, roughly pulls him away from Dean and then pushes the rigid figure of her brother against the wall. 

“What the fuck are you doing here? In case you didn’t notice, I am old enough to make these kinds of decisions on my own. And just for your information, I was the one who suggested this snogging session, it was I who pushed my tongue into Dean’s mouth and for what it’s worth, this is not even the most indecent thing we’ve done.” Ginny looks totally unapologetic, her cheeks pink as well, but not from embarrassment, no she is furious. 

Ron seems to have recovered and is in his little sister’s face again. “That’s so not the point, Gin,” he hisses. “Anybody could have walked this corridor, could have seen you messing around with a random boy like this!”

“Random boy?” Ginny screams, making no effort to keep her voice down. I would have worried about McGonagall or any of the other teachers hearing and investigating, but then again, this is not really my business, I am just standing here giving Dean an encouraging nod of my head. Poor sod, I can relate to when your personal fun time gets interrupted. Like when Snape caught me masturbating on his sofa, with my wand up my arse. Wonder where he is, this would be right up his alley, catching students snogging, taking points for making a scene. My prick starts to show some interest for the first time since I learnt Snape is my Prince. Please, not right now. I am busy here, with supporting my bullheaded best mate, his furious sister and her more and more bewildered boyfriend. 

Ginny inhales sharply, forcing my mind to focus on her again. Thanks, Gin, don’t want to think about Snape and my prick now.

“In case you’ve missed it, Dean is my boyfriend, not some random dude,” she says, her voice now quieter but not less deadly. “And what if I snogged my way up and down the Gryffindor tower? Or started rubbing myself against fucking Malfoy at supper? It’s my frigging business, not yours Ron! Do all of us a favour and take care of your own pathetic love life, or should I say lack of it?”

Ouch, that hurt. I can see how Ron almost physically staggers back and his cheeks get redder by the minute. Now would be a good time to interrupt this stupid scene, protect Ron from making more of an arse off himself and Ginny from saying stuff she will regret later but in this moment Hermione walks around the corner. Worst moment to join our little gathering, Mione. Ron and Ginny don’t see her; she is in their back but Hermione frowns as she tries to figure out what we are doing in the middle of a deserted corridor. Just chatting Mione, move along, please.

“That’s none of your business,” he splutters. “So what, if Hermione and I never snogged? We have plenty of time, no need to rush into anything. Not everybody is such an insatiable vixen as you!” he yells at her, clearly mortified. I know his lack of progress with Hermione is a sore point with Ron, one I would never poke at but he has been a total dick to his sister. It’s hard to take any side here, I am probably with Dean or Hermione in case she gets involved. 

Ginny smirks, but there is no mirth in her eyes. She is getting ready for the knockout blow, she knows it, I know it only poor Ron stands there, all defiant thinking he got the higher ground. Not really, you are playing your sister’s keeper my friend. Hermione sees it too but she is either unwilling to come to her friend’s rescue or unable because Gin’s next words stun everybody.

“Oh really,” she says, her voice sweet and cold at the same time. No idea how she does it but there in front of me is a version of Ginny that scares me with her sweet voice I’ve come to know. I am not naïve, I am aware Ginny has no trouble holding her own, she has to with six older brothers but there is something jarring in this dichotomy. Her voice drips with sarcasm as she advances on her brother, who is still ignorant of what is coming his way. “Well, we know this is true for you Ronnikins, you never snogged with anybody but I can’t help to remember how the object of your unrequited love was snogging quite happily with Victor Krum several years ago, who is quite the hunk if I recall correctly. So no, you are both in the wrong here. You have no right to come and police my love life and you are wrong about Hermione!”

Ron just stares at her, stunned and Ginny pulls Dean down the corridor, snuggling up to him, quite on purpose I presume. My best mate just stands there, his eyes still on the spot Ginny just deserted. 

“Ron…” Hermione. No please, don’t try to sort this right now, Mione. I love you more than my life but just walk away and let me get Ron into a state where he can be at least somewhat sensible. But of course, Mione wants to fix it right away and so she walks over and places a hand on Ron’s arm. That seems to stir him from his stupor and he turns to her, his face pale as a ghost.

“Is that true?” His voice is as cold as Ginny’s only a moment ago. 

Hermione flinches. She has nothing to be sorry for really, but she still does as she quietly nods. Ron’s warm blue eyes turn icy cold as he turns away. 

“I see,” he says trying to sound aloof. “Well, if you’ll excuse me now, I have matters to address.” He starts down the corridor, the opposite direction than his sister which would lead him to the infirmary. Perhaps Madame Pomfrey has something for his burn? 

Instead of leaving this mess alone, Hermione runs after him, clearly distressed. “Ron, wait!” she cries. “Let’s talk about this alright?”

Ron spins around. “What’s there to talk about?” he spits in her face. “You snogged with Krum behind my back! Probably turned-on with the fact of me being in the dark! He was from the other team, Mione! And…” he sputters but then finds something more to be upset about. “…much older than you! And you went behind all of our backs AND SNOGGED HIM FOR FUCKS SAKE!”

Hermione pulls her hand back as if burnt, tears swimming in her hazel eyes. “Yes, I snogged him,” she says quietly. “Ginny is right you know? You have no right to police who we snog and when! You are not my frigging keeper Ron! I am sorry but other people notice I am a woman, not everybody has the emotional range of a teaspoon!”

With one last accusing glare at Ron, she storms away, into the direction of the library. That’s Hermione if her world breaks apart, she finds solace with her books. Ron turns to me, a look of reproach in his eyes. 

“Did you know?”

I shake my head. He sighs.

“I knew you were on my side, mate,” he says and it pains me to correct him but he made an arse of himself and somebody has to let him know. Because you can’t go around blaming girls for enjoying themselves, not when we guys are doing the same. It doesn’t matter if Ron hasn’t so far, Mione and Gin are right, he is not their keeper. 

“Sorry mate,” I answer seriously. “I get how you feel but your sis and Hermione are right, you don’t get to enforce who they snog with and when.”

Ron’s face twists into something ugly, something I never want to see again. “That’s rich coming from you,” he says, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Fucking a book for weeks, just because you are too scared to admit you swing the other side! Get lost!”

He storms away and I stand there, in the middle of the corridor, unsure what I am feeling. I feel hurt, because Ron used my sexuality against me like this, but also because he can’t see he is in the wrong here. I feel uprooted with my two best friends arguing and me in the middle, unprotected, raw, vulnerable. I must have been there, staring at the wall, unseeing for minutes, hearing the astronomy tower calling me in the distance. I am more afraid than ever, everything crashes back onto me and so I turn, run through the hallways, away from that blasted tower.

The astronomy tower is the highest point of Hogwarts so I run into the direction of the dungeons. Not only because they are the exact opposite, but I have found refuge there before. I still remember the direction to Snape’s quarters and once there, I hammer against the door. My heart thrums in my chest, painful as if it wants to jump out. Yeah buddy, know the feeling. I don’t even know why I am here; Snape will likely curse me to hell and back but I can’t trust myself right now, not with nobody around to keep from ascending that fucking tower. Please, be home, don’t turn me away. 

It feels like hours but is most likely only moments and the door is opened. Snape stands in the doorway, his face sallow as always. 

“Potter.” He sounds surprised, clearly not having expected me. He looks up and down the corridor but this hallway is out of the way and completely deserted, clearly the way Snape prefers. However, his Slytherins must know where their head of house lives, so we run the risk of one of them seeing Snape, the Death Eater, and Potter, the chosen one, chatting. Or more like crumbling down in my case, literally, because my legs give out under me. If Snape hadn’t reacted as quickly as he did and caught me, I would have tumbled to the ground, for everybody to see how rotten of a chosen one I am. Told you.

I must be heavy, despite still being pretty small and thin because Snape huffs as he pulls me inside, closing the door behind him with a flick of his hand. Wandless, silent magic, just as he has been teaching us all year. Have I mentioned how much I suck at it? Yeah, I am your useless, brainless, saviour, propped up by my mom’s sacrifice and more powerful wizards.

I get picked up and carried to the sofa like a toddler but I don’t care, I am numb and even I know that being numb is bad. The tower is still calling, not as loud as it did a moment ago but I can still make it out. Snape silently pours me a cup of tea from a pot on the table, beautiful Chinese porcelain, with delicate golden embroidery. Next to it is a discarded potions magazine and a pair of reading glasses. Great, I am ruining Snape’s Sunday evening. He doesn’t seem to mind though, sits down after handing me the cup and stares at me, his eyes unreadable.

“Want to tell me what happened?” He sounds matter of fact, calm, collected. Perhaps this is the Snape his Slytherins deal with if one of them is batshit crazy like me. I inhale, start to say something, just the idea of a syllable but then choke on it, splutter. Snape sighs and summons a vial filled with some kind of potion. He floats it in front of me, letting it hover next to my hand. “Drink this,” he says but his voice is almost warm, not at all like his usual self. I comply if for nothing else than to not make more of a fool of myself. The potion is bitter as it runs down my throat but calms my stomach. I try again.

“They’ll know,” I whisper. Alright, that wasn’t really what I wanted to say but Snape does not seem ruffled. Instead, he arches one brow.

“They’ll know what?” 

I swallow heavily and make a vague movement with my hand but Snape makes no move to spare me actually having to say it. Bastard. My shoulders drop.

“That I am gay.” There, it’s out now. I wait for the blow, something nasty to come my way but Snape leans back and nods.

“I see.” He sips from his tea, closing his eyes for a moment. “The other two-third of the golden trio I presume,” he says eyes still closed. “Not the whole school.”

I shudder. “I’d be dead from embarrassment in that case.”

Snape’s eyes snap open. “Why? Believe me, wizards don’t care,” he says with a smirk. “It’s a muggle thing to worry about coming out. My house has to deal with it less, but I always tell my muggleborn Slytherins that in the wizarding world nobody cares what gender you fancy but rather more the blood status of your partner. You, being a Gryffindor, do not even have to worry about that. So, relax Potter, you’ll be fine.”

“Hermione is muggleborn,” I point out, feeling horrible right away. She never gave me a reason to assume she is homophobic. 

“Please, I repeat nobody in our world will care which side you swing. Instead of setting you up with witches, the Prophet will just start finding suitable male partners for you.”

“Ron hates me,” I admit but Snape waves it away.

“I sincerely doubt Mr Weasley cares at all that you are gay,” he insists. 

I sigh. “Not because of that,” I say, taking a sip from the Earl Grey tea. “Because he tried to tell Gin who she could snog and then did the same to Hermione.” I look up and catch Snape’s gaze. “Did you know she snogged with Viktor Krum?”

Snape sneers. “Who’d you think took ten delicious points from Gryffindor at this dreadful Yule Ball. Let me guess, Ginevra Weasley told her brother to get lost with his patriarchal nonsense, and then Mr Weasley decided it would be a smart idea to label the witch he fancied for years a whore for daring to snog somebody before he did? Did I get that right?”

I cannot help it, I chuckle. “Yeah.” I lean back feeling much better. “This must sound silly to you,” I apologize with a lopsided smile. “All this adolescent nonsense.”

“None of it is silly Mr Potter, but it’s also not the end of the world.” Snape places his empty cup on the table. “From my experience with such matters, Mr Weasley will sooner rather than later figure out what a colossal ass he made of himself, then apologize and the golden trio will be reunited to spread their Gryffindor cheer everywhere.”

That sounds lovely, the sane part of me agrees with Snape that this is the most likely outcome. Ron will feel bad about it all eventually, come to his senses and apologize to me and Ginny. Then he will tell Hermione what an ass he has been, she’ll forgive and lecture him about shortcomings of the patriarchy and how we are all trapped in it, really, because Hermione won’t miss an opportunity to teach somebody even if it is her future husband. We’ll all hug, I feel protected again and we’ll spread our cheer everywhere, as Snape put it. 

But there is this other part, the one that never truly left the cupboard under the stairs, the one that did not make it back from that blasted cemetery, the one that followed Sirius through the veil. The one that is so eager to jump down from the astronomy tower, as one last fuck you to a world that never cared for me. It’s the part of me that scares me, and quite hilariously it’s always the part of me that is constantly scared himself. It’s the one who starts these crazy what-if chains, what if nobody loves me, what if they all leave, what if I die one day and nobody cares? It’s the part of me I don’t trust. 

How can I tell Snape this without sounding mental? He won’t care, he’ll probably only talked with me because Dumbledore told him to. It’s a duty, he only does it because of my mom, because yes, I am not stupid. When the headmaster mentioned that Snape lost someone I figured it was my mom. They were friends, after all, nobody comes to somebody’s rescue like that if they don’t care about you. Yes, surely Snape doesn’t like me either, he just feels he has to protect Lily’s son. 

When I look up Snape still looks at me, his eyes calm like the surface of a sea. A depth to drown myself in. I could be safe there if only he’d let me. He nods as if he had listened to the ramblings of my mad mind. Fuck, did I say that out loud? I can’t even trust my brain anymore to not embarrass me to my bones.

Snape gets up from his armchair, and I know I have to leave now. He is going to escort me to the door, say some pleasantries and then send me on my way. Or no pleasantries and he kicks me out, it’s Snape after all. Instead, he turns to his just deserted armchair and transfigures it into a comfortable looking cot, complete with a fluffy pillow and a warm blanket. 

“You’ll take the cot Potter,” he says amicably as he summons black pyjamas, shrinks and transfigures them into a lovely pale blue. “I am old and my back won’t take one more night away from my bed.”

“You are not old,” I whisper because of course, I do. Why do I hate myself? Why am I braindead when it comes to Snape?

Snape shrugs. “Old enough.” It sounds like a warning. “I am going to report to the headmaster about your whereabouts so Minerva doesn’t tear the castle apart because her prize student is missing. There is an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, the door to you right, you’ll find everything else you need in a small caddy next to the washbasin. Don’t touch any of my stuff, I’ll be back soon.”

With that he pulls on his robe and disappears out of the door, leaving me standing like a fool in the middle of the room. What did just happen? Apparently I stay without having to ask. I guess the cot looks quite soft and welcoming. 

The bathroom is clean and bright, with white tiles and fluffy green towels. I brush my teeth as I try to pointedly not think about the fact that I am going to sleep in Snape’s quarters. Granted, I already slept her before, two nights to be precise but this time I am not on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I am quite aware of where I am and who I am with. The water trickling down my face cools my cheeks, I rub over my forehead, my eyes, trying to clear my head. The towel is smooth against my skin as I dap my face. My cheeks still pink, probably from the course scrub. 

I shrug off my muddy jeans and put on the PJs that we were once Snape’s. Worn on his body, touching his skin. Merlin, shut up Potter. Nobody wants to hear that. I put my dirty clothes in a wicker hamper and then leave the bathroom. 

Snape isn’t back yet but that doesn’t mean I should just stand around here like an idiot. I place my glasses on the glass table, crawl under the warm covers and pull them up until they cover half my heated face. Merlin, help me. This night is going to be torture. I close my eyes, trying to chase all impure thoughts out of my head. Don’t think about Snape or his graceful hands. Think about… Umbridge. Ew, no don’t think about the woman responsible for the scar on your right hand. Rather think about… Dumbledore. Yes, Dumbledore, naked, sitting behind his desk, popping lemon drops into mouth. Well, that killed my libido alright. 

It’s much later when Snape returns. I must have fallen asleep because I wake when I hear someone open the door. He’s undetectable as he crosses the room, his dark figure only a blob in the darkness. I hear his wand swish, the light in the fireplace goes out and then he walks into his bedroom, closing the door behind him softly. 

I exhale and relax. The door is closed, there should be no reason for you to open it now. Just sleep. And think of naked Dumbledores in a paddling pool. With floaties. I fall asleep with a grin on my face that looks a little pained. It’s probably the floaties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright lovelies, a new chapter. I am aware Ron is behaving like an arse but he'll come around. This story does not bash any of the characters because we all love them equally. Hope you'll like.


	11. Last stable version of ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter, please enjoy. As an addendum, I don't have a beta, so if you stumble over any glaring mistakes let me know, so I can correct them. Also, constructive criticism is always appreciated. Thank you so much for your continued support, the lovely comments, kudos and general engagement. Love you all!

The next morning, I suffer from deja vu. I wake up in a strange room, the furniture is all wonky and it smells like home. Like Hogwarts, of course, because I am in the castle but there is something distinct in this scent, herbal, a little smoke, part of the cleaning solution we use to clean the cauldrons and sandalwood. It’s probably in Snape’s shower gel because the whole damn room is infused in it. Have I mentioned that it makes me hard? 

So, I lie here in the transfigured cot, with a painful erection between my thigs. It must have been weeks since I last masturbated and of course, my body would choose this moment, here in Snape’s sitting room, with the potions master sleeping next-door, to act up. I am just going to ignore the whole mess because I’d die if I were to be caught masturbating by Snape again. I return to imaging Dumbledore in his wading pool, with floaties, but this time I need to add Flitwick as well, chasing little floating toys around the shallow water. It takes a while but it does the trick and slowly I push the sheets away.

It is biting cold here in the dungeons and I almost shriek when my feet touch the ground and it feels like I am stepping on ice. It turns into a soft whimper that would have embarrassed me a couple of weeks ago, but now I simply pull my feet back under the covers cursing softly. Behind me I hear the faintest chuckle, skillfully turned into a huff that won’t hurt my ego so much. I don’t have to turn to see who has joined me, it’s Snape’s sitting room after all and the man was expected to make an appearance eventually.

“One moment, let me light the fire before the cold harms your delicate Gryffindor sensibilities,” Snape says from the door to the bathroom. He looks his usual self, black robes, his face devoid of any emotion as he flicks his wand. I feel like I was insulted but Snape does it so skillfully, hides his insults behind a veneer of so many complex words that it’s hard to tell at times. It’s a skill, one that I am not particularly fond of. At least when it’s directed at me.

The moment the fire erupts it feels as if the air loses some of its chills but it’s still so much colder than in my dorm. I watch from under my cover as Snape walks over to a bell coming from the ceiling next to the mantlepiece and rings it. On the table appears breakfast, looking fairly similar to what we get served up in the great hall. Eggs, bacon, sausages, tea- the usual and Snape motions for me to help myself. Hesitantly, I push the sheets away and walk over to the sofa. It’s already much warmer in here and Snape casts a warming charm on both of us after taking in my miserable expression. 

“Thanks,” I say quietly with a smile on my face. Snape’s cheeks turn a shade of red and he mutters, “Gryffindors,” under his breath as he crosses the room. I decide to give him a moment to compose himself and file the information that Snape is uncomfortable with outward expressions of gratitude away. He’s a bit like me, I hate nothing more than when someone comes over and thanks me personally for my mother’s sacrifice. It’s cool dude, I only lost my family over saving our bloody world and had to grow up with my cruel aunt and uncle but always happy to please. 

“I am afraid you will have to leave in about 40 minutes so you are not late for your first class,” Snape says as he sits down and sips from his tea, black but with a tiny bit of sugar. “According to the headmaster, your cover story is one of your headaches and subsequently a stay in the infirmary overnight.” He stops and waits for me to say something but my mouth is full of tea, so I politely nod. Snape huffs. “Finish your meal and then I would recommend a shower before you leave.”

Breakfast is a quiet affair, Snape clearly not a morning person or at least, not a chatty morning person. He reads the potions magazine from last night, not the Prophet and sips from his tea behind the paper. I feel hungry all in a sudden and I load my plate with some scrambled eggs and several slices of bacon and sausages. I top it off with a generous helping of baked beans and a scone that I start to nibble on. There’s citrus marmalade so I smear it on my scone as thick as my thumb. I have no idea why I am so hungry but I’ve gotten used to regular food and sleep routines again and I don’t waste my time fretting over it. 

Snape is ignoring me and according to my watch I have only another ten minutes left before I need to start my morning ablutions if I still want to have a quick shower. Despite this, while I am stuffing my face with a mix of eggs and beans, I audibly clear my throat. 

“What’s your first class, Sir?” I ask cheerfully and take a huge sip from my tea, laced with an utterly absurd amount of sugar and milk. 

The hand that holds the teacup stills and then Snape lowers the magazine, staring at me with barely concealed irritation.

“Seriously?” he asks icily and because I have no idea what pissed him off this time, I simply nod with a broad smile on my face. Worked the first time. “Defense with the sixth year’s Gryffindors and Slytherins, Mr Potter, as you should be well aware of as a part of my class.”

Oops. I just nod again, not for one second banishing the mad grin from my face and stuff another sausage into my already full mouth. Some of the sauce from the beans dribbles down from the corners of my mouth over my chin onto my PJs. The thin line of Snape’s mouth becomes more pronounced as he watches some more droplets join their brothers and sisters on my chest. I quickly chew, swallow, and then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Sorry,” I say sounding not particularly apologetic. Snape doesn’t reply, instead, his fingers curl around his wand tighter than strictly needed and then casts a silent cleaning charm. The slightly wet sensation washes over my chest and the lower part of my face. “Thanks,” I add, still keeping the smile in place.

Snape just looks at me, his eyes narrowed and the way he holds his wand tells me he barely keeps himself from hexing me out of the room. Instead, he forces his fingers to release the thick stick of wood, and grips the newspaper tightly, almost ripping the paper apart with his force.

“Finish your breakfast,” he mutters darkly, already hidden behind his newspaper again, voice sounding muffled. 

I know I am annoying the man on purpose and after he basically let me stay here once again, I could not even say why I do it. Perhaps, because that’s how we both work best, Potter and Snape, irritated and annoyed with each other. Me, cheeky and brash, and Snape, short-tempered and displeased. Anything else feels a little scary so I default back to the last stable version of ourselves. The one where Snape has a sneer on his face, everything else is unacceptable.

I finish the rest of my breakfast in silence and then rise from the surprisingly comfortable sofa to get my shower done. The bathroom is brightly illuminated from an enchanted window letting in the sunlight and shortly I stand there and gaze over the snow-covered grounds of the castle. It’s almost otherworldly, like a snowy winter wonderland from one of those glass globes that Dudley possessed years ago. He eventually smashed it against the wall the day after he received it, in one his fits but it was beautiful for the short time it stood on the mantlepiece. 

It’s likely the last winter here for me, Dumbledore said next year the school will have to close so I feel a little emotional. Hogwarts was the first home I ever had, it’s still the place I feel I belong. Flexing my fingers into a fist as I angrily stare over the make-believe picture of the castle grounds. I don’t want to leave, Hogwarts is worth saving, worth protecting. It’s the one place where little boys find acceptance in a world that treats them like shit. 

Then, Snape knocks on the door interrupting my increasingly depressing thoughts. “Potter, I don’t hear the shower. I suggest you hurry up a bit or you will be late for your first class and don’t for one second think I won’t take points.”

I have to smile at that, it sounds so much like Snape that it fills me with warmth. Perhaps some things never change. 

“I’ll have to attend a staff meeting before our first class so do not dawdle if you don’t want to be late,” he adds.

“Sorry,” I call back. “I’ll get a move on, Sir.”

Snape huffs and I can easily imagine his face, lips pressed together, black eyes simmering with irritation. “See that you do,” he says and then I can hear him walking away. The outside door to the dungeons opens and closes again and then I am all alone.

A quick tempus reveals that I will likely lose points today so I quickly step under the warm spray of the shower. I make it a quick affair, using Snape’s shower cream and finding my suspicions affirmed that the sandalwood comes from this. I look down at my prick showing interest again but if I wank now Snape will somehow know and rip my head off later. Disappointed I resign myself to a lengthy wanking session tonight once I am safe inside my bed, privacy charms in place. 

Outside the shower, I find a set of my school robes on a stool and it’s only a couple of minutes later that I leave Snape’s sitting room into the dungeons. The hallway is empty, just like last night but as I hurry down the corridor into the direction of the stairs, I begin to hear the laughter and chatter of students. Turning at the next intersection I almost run into Malfoy, of all people.

The blonde’s eyes are wide open as he stares at me, his grey eyes bloodshot and looking as if he hasn’t slept in days. I feel a pang of sympathy because I know how that feels, how much a lack of sleep messes with your mind but then Malfoy opens his mouth and, as usual, all my sympathy is out of the window.

“What are doing down here, Scarface,” he spits into my face, his eyes narrowing dangerously. 

My fingers curl around my wand as I try to look unconcerned. This stupid shit can’t know I slept in Snape’s quarters so I shrug casually. Best to act like a prat and upset Malfoy so much that he forgets to wonder where I am coming from and what a Gryffindor is doing down in the dungeons so early in the morning.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, ferret boy?” I ask with a leer, leaning over so that only he can hear me. “I know what you are up to,” I whisper, my voice a fairly good imitation of Snape’s when he is threatening one of his students with eternal damnation, or detention. “Piece of advice, I wouldn’t if I were you Malfoy. You are dealing with forces beyond your kin.”

There is something in Malfoy’s eyes, a flicker of emotion but before I can analyze it properly it’s gone leaving only the haughty face you want to smash your first into. And boy do I want to right now, preferably bruising him so that his ragged impression is complete. The fact that Malfoy looks nothing the refined little lord he is, pleases me immensely after the last five years. 

“Something you are intimately familiar with, aren’t you Potter,” Malfoy huffs. “I’ve been hearing some stories about the Chosen One…” He trails off as if he is waiting for one of his friends to snicker and it’s the first time I notice that none of them can be seen. It’s strange, Malfoy’s never without his little entourage of brainless followers and demented Death Eater spawns. He needs their fawning as much as they need the validation of their mediocrity. It’s how many Slytherin relationships work, none of them cares too much for equal partnerships. 

“And I’ve been hearing some stories about disgraced Death Eaters and their heirs being set up to fail,” I answer with a wink. “But you can’t really believe stuff you hear on the grapevine, can you? Now, I have a class to attend so kindly, move out of the way.”

Not waiting for him to comply I brush past him and continue on my way to the dorm. The corridors are crowded, with students coming from the great hall or from their dorms on their way to their classes. I still need to get my books and stuff so I better hurry if I don’t want to be spectacularly late. 

I almost make it to the tower when I meet Hermione. She looks horrible, red-rimmed eyes, her hair askew and the buttons of her shirt are not unevenly done. As soon as she sees me, she wails, runs over, and throws her arms around me, sobbing in my ear. 

“Harry, oh Harry,” she weeps as her arms hug me tightly and her tears begin to stain my chest. I helplessly pad her shoulder and just return the hug, letting her ride it out. From my limited experience with girls and Hermione in particular, I know it’s best to not rush them, be there and offer comfort and affection. Come to think of it, it’s not much different with boys in essence, perhaps the execution differs. 

“I am sorry that Ron was such an ass to you,” I whisper into her hair and Hermione pulls away, to stare at me from teary eyes.

“You think that’s why I am crying?” she asks gently and when I hesitantly nod she wails again and buries her face in my robe. Alright, that was obviously a catch-22 question. 

I am at a loss at what to say so I just let her be until she consoles herself. Hermione looks even more of a mess than before, her eyes now shimmering with tears, the mascara she started to wear this year smeared from her crying. But she beams at me, brightly, as she pulls me into the tower. It’s late, we should hurry if we want to make it to class and not be spectacularly late but she doesn’t seem to mind. The common room is empty except Ron, who sits on the couch, his face buried into his palms, looking like misery personified. I hate seeing my two best friends in the world like this and swear to force them to at least discuss that stupid Krum shit-story. Because what else could they both be so miserable about?

Hermione surprises me again when she turns to Ron, her hazel eyes warm as she takes in his sunken posture. 

“Ron, Harry’s back,” she says softly and instantly Ron looks up, his eyes looking not any better than Hermione’s but a smile spreads on his freckled features. That’s the Ron I know, grinning, finding the joy in life even in the direst situations. 

“Fuck it Harry!” he screams and runs over to me. Hugs me again, crushingly so this time but thankfully Ron, the guy with the emotional range of a teaspoon, pulls away quickly. “Are you okay? McGonagall told us you were in the infirmary but that’s clearly a cover story, ‘cause you didn’t have any headaches since last summer, they are trying to cover something up, I was so worried about you, mate.” He takes a much-needed breath at this moment and Hermione uses this moment to butt in. 

“What Ron wants to say is that we were worried out of our minds Harry,” she says, clinging to my arm with her shaking hand while Ron still has his arms around my shoulders, staring at me with the broadest grin. “We were all so selfish with our fighting when we should know better,” she added softly, her eyes once again glistening with tears. “We are rotten friends,” she wails again and then hugs me from the back so I feel like a sandwiched piece of ham. It’s not bad just a little much so I clear my throat, not wanting to upset my friends further. There is no telling what they will do next otherwise and I am out of places to hug. 

“Look guys, I am fine-,” I start but Ron growls and then pulls me to the sofa pushing me into the soft cushions. 

“I might have been the worst friend ever,” he huffs and then drops down next to me. “But I know that’s not true, mate, I know you hate it when we argue, I know you have struggled with stuff, stuff that is really none of anybody’s business but I’ll be damned if I am not here to support you now!”

He looks so earnest, his face set into an expression of self-loathing that I know only too well. I know Ron is sometimes bad with regulating his feelings and prone to lashing out on others when he feels threatened but he appears genuinely upset, just as Hermione. I begin to understand that the reason for their state is not their silly argument but me missing for a night and it warms my heart. Obviously, they made up already, with the way Hermione clasps mine and Ron’s hand and Ron returns it. I understand it’s time, to throw all cards on the table, they likely already know but still, my throat constricts.

“I am gay,” I croak out softly as I keep my eyes on my lap. “I know you suspected already but I still want both of you to know.”

Ron takes my other hand, his skin calloused and warm against my cold clammy flesh. He squeezes it and then raises my chin. 

“Harry, I have been a colossal ass implying that there could be anything wrong with liking who you like,” he says quietly, his blue eyes burning with shame. “I said other disgusting shit to both Ginny and Hermione but what I said to you is indefensible. And then you were gone, nobody said anything apart from that you were in the infirmary and that bullshit story about headaches. I felt that perhaps you might have-“ he falters, swallows heavily and after one long look at Hermione soldiers on. “you might have hurt yourself and I’d never could have forgiven myself if the last words to my best friend in the world would have been accusations made in anger. I want you to know, no, need you to know that I am more than okay with you liking guys. Actually, Charlie is gay, hell my favourite uncle Thaddeus is gay and that man is the coolest wizard I know. I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me Harry but I want you to know that nobody in the wizarding world cares about this stuff, it’s not like with muggles,” he adds after sharing another gaze with Hermione.

He looks at me as if my beloved owl died and he was to blame and now he is here to face his punishment. My heart gets lighter suddenly and I raise a brow.

“Thaddeus?” My voice sounds a little tight. “What kind of fucking name is that?”

Ron huffs. “A fucking stupid name,” he agrees and his eyes convey that he won’t forgive himself for a while. I am okay with that; he was a wanker in this but I can’t blame him when there were times last year when I said some nasty things to him too. We are all just human after all, we fuck up but it’s important to own up to it. And forgive, because what kind of world would we live in if we didn’t forgive each other?

“I was at Snape’s,” I admit, now that we are confessing stuff and I suddenly don’t want any secrets between us. These are my two best friends, my support system and with dark times ahead, I don’t want us to be separated by dishonesty. 

Hermione furrows her brow. “Why? You didn’t have another detention, did you?”

I shook my head with an amused expression. “No, no detention. It’s a long story but when I wasn’t doing so well weeks ago Snape allowed me to recover in his quarters so I went back.”

Hermione gasps. “The weekend-long detention,” she says. “I knew it, nobody has ever had to stay for detention overnight, not like this,” she exclaims and I can see how much it pleases her that this mystery is solved. It must have driven poor Hermione bonkers not figuring it out. 

“So, what you are saying is that Snape was nice?” Ron sounds as this is the most ludicrous thing he ever heard and perhaps he is right.

I grin. “Well, as nice as Snape can be but yeah, he helped,” I say and then when I see Ron’s unhappy expression, I sigh. “Ron, you’ve been a prat in this but not everything that happened this year is your fault. I mean, what you said yesterday sucked, more so what you said to your little sis and Hermione but I’ve not been doing so well for a while. This whole chosen one thing is a tad much, I feel like I can never live up to anyone’s expectations. Snape simply offered me a place to hide for a while but I am happy to report he is still the same miserable bastard he always was.”

As expected this draws a snicker from Ron. “Glad to know,” he says and the mirth in his eyes coupled with relief makes me giddy. I have not lost my best friends, perhaps things start to look up. 

“So, he can be trusted?” Hermione asks, ever the sensible one. 

“I had a chat with Dumbledore weeks ago after my nervous breakdown and he insisted that he trusts Snape with his life,” I reveal. “He promised to reveal everything I need to know in the new year.” I don’t add that this turns my insides into jelly whenever I think about it.

Ron chews on his lower lip as he contemplates this. “Perhaps, we’ll find out what Malfoy’s up to then.” The fact that he no longer questions my suspicions, is a clear indicator of Ron feeling bad.

“I already do,” I reply as I lean forward and extricate my hand from Hermione’s. “He wants to murder the headmaster.”

Hermione inhales sharply. “What? But we need to tell the headmaster immediately, he could be in grave danger!” She jumps up and I can barely grab her arm to keep her from dashing to the headmaster’s office, barging in, wand is drawn and interrupting poor Dumbledore’s breakfast. Or whatever he’s up to at this time. 

“He knows, Mione,” I say calmly. “In fact, he is the one who told me and according to him, it’s sorted whatever that means. Told me, to enjoy the end of the year like a normal teenager.”

Ron made a face. “A normal teenager? Honestly?”

I chuckle. “Sounds crazy I know but the last two weeks were quite pleasant, without having the fate of the world resting on my shoulders. At least, Dumbledore assured me he’d take care of it all and I wouldn’t have to stand alone against Voldemort eventually.”

Hermione squeezes my arm. “Of course not, we will be by your side, no matter what happens.”

“No matter what,” Ron agrees solemnly. “We’ll be there once you kick that snake’s ass, hand you a towel afterwards. And a butterbeer.”

And just like that, the world’s righted again. The small, scared part of myself crawls underneath the warm protection of my friend’s love and starts to snuggle himself in. Of course, we are more than forty minutes late to Snape’s class, the man looks as if he bit into a lemon as we walk in. His dark eyes wander from my relieved expression to Ron and Hermione and he only huffs.

“At last, the Golden Trio decides to join us meagre mortals in our class,” he spits into our direction as he forces us into seats in the front of the class, wandless and voiceless. “Five points from Gryffindor for disrespecting my time.” And that’s the end of it, Snape returns to teaching but there is a stark relief in his eyes, his shoulders look not as tense as he demonstrates a silent stunning spell. For the first time I feel content in one of his classes, not like I am an unwanted intruder. My high spirits are woefully dampened when Hermione leans over.

“Have you already thought about who to ask out for Slughorn’s Christmas party?” she whispers and Snape casts a warning glance our way. 

No, of course not, I was kind of busy the last weeks and to be completely honest, I ignored it, as I usually do with unpleasant matters. I pale and let my face fall onto the hard surface of my desk, groaning softly. 

“Well, Mr Potter, that was an adequate impression of the result of a successfully cast stunning hex,” Snape says from the front and I can hear the schadenfreude in his voice. Bastard, probably heard Hermione’s question as well. I close my eyes and sigh. I am screwed. 

Hermione leans over again. “You could ask Luna,” she suggests.

Luna. Well, that could work. I would simply have to explain to her that it would be a platonic date but she might enjoy that dreadful affair. Shortly, I consider to ask out a boy but then disregard it immediately. I am not ready to come out to the whole school, the thought alone makes me sick. It’s bad enough, all the unwanted attention I get from strangers, everybody’s feeling entitled to my bloody life. I don’t need more of that when I am intruding into unchartered waters. I will eventually make a fool of myself along the way I don’t the public scrutiny to go with it. 

In the front Snape gets his revenge by choosing Ron to demonstrate the next silent hex and poor Ron starts to move his feet as he fails to deflect the dancing feet jinx. 

I wonder if Snape will attend the Christmas party. Not that I particularly care, no Sir, not this perfectly normal wizard. It’s not as if I acquired a, according to Hermione, flattering new set of dress robes, or that I would silently watch Snape like a hawk all night to see if he notices me. It’s not as if I fancy the man, he is old, not even what you’d call especially handsome. I mean he has nice hands, with long graceful fingers and if one were into powerful wizards, which I am not, Snape would be a delicious blend of raw power and finesse. My eyes are certainly not glued to his precise wand movements as he knocks back Ron, who once again fails to block his spell. Some wizards simply use magic, more or less efficiently, but Snape right here lives, breathes magic as he demonstrates a tongue-swelling jinx. 

Perhaps Snape would be willing to teach me some defensive and offensive spells? I mean, I am fighting a megalomaniac madman one day, and according to Dumbledore Snape is on our side. So, asking for some additional training shouldn’t be in any way suspicious. My eyes follow Snape around the room, even once we are paired with others to try out the hexes he just demonstrated. I don’t excel in voiceless magic but now I intentionally mess it up until Snape walks over and corrects not only my wand movement but also my posture. 

“Merlin Potter, your teachers should have gotten rid of your abhorrent technique in your first year,” Snape sneers into my face.

“Sorry Sir,” I say, looking up from under my fringe as I successfully cast the stunning hex at Ron. Snape only huffs and casts a quick reviving spell on Ron. As he moves on to the next pair, Ron sinks down on a nearby desk. 

“What are you doing mate?” he asks as he brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. The sweat can’t be from my stunning hex, so it must be from the dancing earlier. To be honest, Snape let Ron go on showing his moves for a time while he explained why my best mate had failed in blocking the jinx. Despite my newfound interest in the seclusive Slytherin, I have no illusions about the man- he is a petty, ill-natured bastard who loves to tower his superiority over his students. 

I sit down next to Ron and nudge him with my shoulder. “Nothing,” I answer with a mischievous grin. Ron groans and slaps me on the shoulder.

“Merlin, you are not flirting with Snape, are you?” he asks, sounding horrified. He makes one of his faces that is supposed to indicate puking but I always felt it was rather misleading. Looks more like a choking rat to me. Perhaps now is the time to tell him but then it might look as if I were defending Snape’s honour and nothing could be further from the truth. 

“Of course not,” I reply easily, keeping my even. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can make out Snape as he demonstrates the proper wand movement to Seamus while letting Neville dance for several minutes. Such a prick. Snape, not Neville of course. I can’t help but smile fondly as Snape finally ends the jinx, and over the room, his eyes meet mine. 

I am fairly sure my smile is not malevolent but again Snape looks as if he just bit into a lemon. There is a fair bit of warning in his eyes and it confuses me. Am I not allowed to find his antics amusing? Well, then perhaps he should stop them because I am not going to pretend to be annoyed when Neville looks unconcerned. Hell, Snape even helped my clumsy dormmate up when he didn’t find his footing right away. Who is acting weird now? 

I feel anger bubble up inside, a familiar, comforting feeling when in Snape’s proximity. Snape is blowing his cover by being almost decent. For fucks sake, there are Slytherins in this glass, he should have taken at least ten points each from me and my friends for being late! He shouldn’t help up Neville, instead, he should have taken ten points for being too stupid to stand! 

I look around the room and isn’t Malfoy staring at me strangely. He ran into me in the dungeons earlier today, clearly, he begins to suspect something. There, in his eyes is a glint and doesn’t he grip his wand tighter as he listens to Snape’s instructions? I feel a new bout of panic, something I haven’t felt in a while but I know I need to act, and quickly. 

Ignoring Ron, whose chattering on about something I can’t bother to pay attention to, I flip my wand and cast a stunning hex at Malfoy. The blonde sags to the ground and Snape’s eyes snap to me, wand still in hand. 

“Potter, what do you think you are doing?” he asks me, clearly furious. Reviving Malfoy, he checks the Slytherin for a moment and when he is satisfied the boy is unharmed, Snape stalks over, a thunderous expression on his face. “Twenty points for attacking one of your students, ten more for doing it underhandedly and you will serve a detention tonight after dinner.” 

There is a clear warning in his livid black eyes that if I were to step out of line one more time, I’d regret it. There is no need to, however, Malfoy glares at me, Snape storms away to torment another pair of students and Ron can’t decide if he wants to pity me, be angry or cheer me on. All is as it should be and on top of it, I earned myself another detention with Snape tonight. What once would have filled me with dread, now flutters inside my stomach. No idea why, Snape will certainly make me pay for hurting one of his precious Slytherins. Perhaps I’ll enjoy it just to spite my disagreeable potions master?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear originally the idea was to have no more than ten chapters, get those two hooked up and poor Harry some action. However, Snape and Harry are so stubborn, so I guess you get a snails-paced slow burn in the end. Have I mentioned that this story is supposed to go until the end of the year and we are not even at Christmas yet? Arggg! I probably should also mention that in a perfect world I have plans for a sequel, which would cover seventh year and the battle against Voldemort. So yeah, next chapter the detention and then on to Slughorn's Christmas party. Hopefully, our two guys agree to make it a quick affair... expect lots of snark and some pining.


	12. Drunken Escapades

It’s close to seven as I make my way down to the dungeons to serve my detention. I am on edge, mostly because I originally planned to have an epic wanking session tonight but instead I am feeling more nervous than a first-year on his way to his first detention. The castle around me is still buzzing with students, returning from the great hall, some on their way to the library for some late-night studying and in the entrance hall, I am almost trampled by the Hufflepuff quidditch team on their way to a training session. 

The steps down into the black and dusty dungeons feel like a descend into madness, my mind plays tricks on me, out of the corner of my eyes I can see my Prince everywhere I go. He looks relaxed, he leans against the stonewall, then disappears around a turn in the hallway. The castle down here is silent, the quietness reverberating from the walls and drowning out my jittery thoughts. 

I end up at the potion classroom because all detentions I ever served with Snape happened right here, but the damp room is locked as my sweaty hand rattles the handle. Confused, I look around then decide to try the man’s office. Perhaps, I am supposed to clean out some of the nasty jelly-things in his jars there? The muted sounds of my steps are mirrored from the walls and my heart is racing away with my unfounded fears. It is only detention, get a grip man! 

Snape’s office is as locked as the classroom and now I am getting frustrated. If you assign detentions, you can’t just skip out on them like that. Part of me feels like a scorned young thing being set up by their date. I dressed up, I bought flowers and now I am standing in front of a closed restaurant door waiting for instructions. Of course, looking down I would hardly call faded blue jeans and an old quidditch shirt dressing up but, in my defence, Snape would mock me if I showed up in anything but my ordinary clothes. Still, I am here, I am nervous as hell, but Snape is playing hide-and-seek with me tonight.

Leaning against the wall next to the worn wood of the infuriating wizard’s office door, I wait for him to show up. Eventually, I walk back to the classroom to check if he was only late but nope, the room is as deserted as before. I watch a spider crawl up the wall on the other side of the small hallway, when an idea jumps out at me. Perhaps, it’s unlikely but who cares, Snape is waiting for me in his private quarters? The thought is ludicrous but it’s the only possible explanation for the git missing one of his torture sessions.

Not caring for any kind of decency I dash down the corridor past Snape’s office and then down the hallway that looks as if nobody has used it decades, with its dusty cobwebs and the slight mould on the walls. Snape’s door waits for me and to my surprise, it opens when I arrive as if it was waiting for me. Taking one last deep breath, I step inside and pull the heavy door closed behind me. 

“You are late,” Snape remarks from behind his desk to the side where he is clearly busy marking assignments. “Any feeble excuses you want to offer, or should I just feel honoured that you grace me with your presence after all?” His hand continues to paint a poor sod’s essay red as I flop down on the sofa.

“I was waiting for you at your office,” I say accusingly. I sound like a nagging housewife, but I can’t help it. “You didn’t show up,” I add when he ignores me in favour of viciously crossing out a whole section of the assignment. 

Snape looks up, his brows deeply furrowed. If from my accusation or stress at grading assignments, I have no idea. “I thought it was implied that your detention would take place here,” he says and then shrugs. “My apologies, Potter, however, this won’t be an excuse next time.”

I try to act unconcerned with Snape’s apologetic words but inside I feel a ton lighter. “So, you are quite certain there will be a next time?”

“Absolutely.” Snape has returned to grading, smothering the parchment with another avalanche of red. 

“Perhaps I’ll be a good boy without any detentions for the rest of the year?” I am enjoying this, bickering with the man without any real malice.

Snape huffs. “As if,” he says, his face hidden by a strand of black hair as he bends over the parchment. “I know you Potter; you are always on the lookout for more trouble.”

I snicker. “So not true. I never look for any trouble, trouble usually finds me.” I lean back into the soft cushions and close my eyes. “This is nice,” I say quietly listening to the sounds of Snape’s quill scratching over the parchment. “It’s never this quiet in the dorm,” I add, pressing my cheek into the silky fabric of the pillow. 

“I thought you do have access to my old potions textbook?” Snape asks as he finishes the defacement of the assignment and rolls it back together.

“So?” I am not admitting anything, but I am strangely curious where he wants to go with this.

“So, you should use one of my spells to block out the chatter of your dormmates whenever you need privacy,” Snape says as he unrolls the next parchment. 

“You mean muffliato?” I yawn and can’t be arsed to cover my mouth. “Yeah, I remember that one. It’s quite brilliant how many spells the prince created! I mean he was, what? My age at that time? I reckon I learnt more from his annotations than in all my classes so far, he’s a god if you ask me, should have written his own potions book and helped out poor suffering students all over the world.” I know I ramble, but the prince is one of my favourite subjects and I rarely have time to talk about him with anyone. Hermione always frowns when I mention him, mostly accusing me of cheating in the next breath and Ron usually shrugs because anything to do with potions is a waste of time for him.

Snape’s head snaps up from his grading, the quill hovering dangerously over the parchment, a red droplet of ink on its tip. He once again looks as if he bit into a lemon, his brows furrowed, his lips curled in irritation and suddenly, the lines in his face, more pronounced than a moment ago, make him look ten years older. For the first time, the thought occurs that perhaps I am the reason Snape looks so unhappy most of the time, maybe I drag everyone down with me. 

The prince winks from his place at the door and I find comfort in that little gesture. It’s not really me, it’s the war, in the end, it’s all Riddle’s fault, his endless strife for immortality. Snape is still working as a double spy; he probably must visit that would-be master-wizard all the time. That’s why he looks so sour not my presence. I am just the catalyst that forces him to relive what comes down to probably the worst moments of his life. I clench my fist as I imagine ten more ways to let Voldemort suffer for what he did to all of us.

“Are you still on about this?” Snape asks and then places his quill back into the ink bottle with a splash. “Well, if you insist on talking about my younger self, from now on you will address me properly.” He stands up, his hands sprawled on the table before him, the wiry muscles in his lower arms flexing. Crazy, I never noticed before that Snape isn’t wearing his black robe, only slacks and his white shirt, with the sleeves pushed up.

He stares at me, his gaze so intense that I involuntarily nod, swallowing hard. Oops, I forgot about that tiny little detail. For some reason, I am still separating the prince from Snape. His younger self lays sprawled on the wingback and rolls his eyes at the antics of his older version. I barely suppress a chuckle as I try to look anywhere but there. 

Snape is obviously done with his grading, or I am putting him off because he stalks over, pours himself a cup of tea and then sits down where the prince still lounges. They blend, the younger self interlacing with the older, crosser Snape. 

“I should have done this much sooner,” he notes as he crossed his legs. His slacks ride up revealing a hint of strong calves and a sprinkle of dark hair. “You are still unwilling to give up this idealized version of me, so I am forcing you to confront the fact that we are one and the same.”

I push off my trainers with my feet and pull my legs against my chest. “What’s the harm,” I mutter more to myself. I don’t really want to argue about my prince anymore. 

“The harm,” Snape starts, his black eyes simmering with some unknown feeling. “Is you stop living in the here and now. You tie yourself to an idealized version of someone who will not ever be able to live up to that notion. In the end, you will end up all alone.”

“So what?” I shrug carelessly, resting my chin on my knees. The cotton of my jeans rubs against my skin. “More alone than now?”

Snape purses his lips and I intuitively know I said something stupid, something childish and the chance to be equals is over. His next words prove me right.

“Idiot boy,” he snarls as he uncrosses his legs and leans forward. “Hordes of adoring fans with an eager girl for the taking if he only lets her. You have no concept, no idea what loneliness truly means.”

I decide to concentrate on the girl part, not the rest because I won’t be able to change Snape’s mind about my ‘hordes of fans’. 

“Ginny?” I sniffle. It’s cold in the dungeon despite the flaring fire. “I reckon she’s rather cross with me,” I add as an aside when Snape sneers.

“You’ve been ignoring her,” he replies with a huff. “Any fool can see she would like you to make a move, but you are too delusional to see it.”

“She has a boyfriend,” I insist hotly. “Who is one of my dormmates.”

Snape shrugs. “I thought you were a Gryffindor lion,” he says quietly, leaning back again. “Crush the competition if you must.”

It’s my turn to huff. “What about what I want? Perhaps I just want to be left alone?”

“You don’t,” Snape insists coolly. “You are drenched in your need for company.”

I jump up from the sofa, my trainers forgotten on the floor, clench my fists so hard that the nail pierces my skin. 

“You know nothing about me!” I hiss as my blood is rushing through my ears. “First you take my prince away from me, you useless waste of a git, then you paint me as this waste of space, unable to know what I truly want in life! Then tell me, Snape, what do I need to get rid of this bloody void inside? Hm? Tell me!” And because I have apparently not made enough of a fool of myself, I stalk over and stare down at Snape who just raises an eyebrow and smirks. The bloody bastard smirks! 

Something must have shifted in my face because one moment the git looks down-right rude and the next alarmed. He raises his arms, if to push me away or catch me I have no idea, I jump him where he sits, growling. It’s like a flashback to my breakdown when I strangled the man and a part of me wants to repeat that, needs to hurt someone else because otherwise- no don’t go there. Instead, I hammer my hands at Snape’s chest, his warm heaving chest, the fabric of his shirt soft and smooth under my skin. He doesn’t fight back, he doesn’t flinch, he just lets me shovel my own grave by attacking one of my teachers, again. 

Spittle flies out of my mouth as I scream into his stoic face, try to wrangle some sense from his shoulders. There are no words only beastlike sounds, grunting, growling, snarling and so much rage. My teeth catch my lower lips, pierce the skin and then I feel a rivulet of blood and spittle run down my chin. I must look like the deranged beast I feel like, with my heaving torso, my wild eyes and the sounds I am making. Snape finally catches my hands, curls his warm fingers around mine and without a word presses me down. 

I end up on his lap, my face thrown back as I howl my pain into Snape’s sitting room. The sound hurts my own ear, I want them to stop but I am helpless, reduced to instincts like a caged animal. 

“Let me go,” I wail, trying to free my hands. “For fucks sake Snape, let me go!” It is to no avail, Snape doesn’t react, he just holds my hands- likely preventing me from further hurting my myself- and keeps me on his lap. I know, I know I won’t go anywhere until I calm do and slowly that knowledge allows me to regain my composure. The wailing stops together with the snarling, my hands no longer fight him and my body slumps against him like a ragdoll with its strings cut. My pulse is racing together with my breath as I stare at Snape’s shoulders. “Let me go,” I whimper into his robe but with no real force behind it. Honestly, I only want to rest. “Please.” I am not even sure what I am asking for, but my words get muffled by Snape’s chest. 

I hear him exhale as if he is releasing a retained breath and then his shoulders move as he cradles my body and I end cradled like a toddler. 

“I will,” he says, his voice resonating against my hair, the sounds vibrating in his jaw. But he doesn’t let me go, he holds on and my fingers curl into his shoulders, the crisp white shirt getting creased and crumpled. Snape’s scent, herbs, smoke, lemon, tea- it all assaults my senses, the heat from his body warms the chill I feel, and his hands slowly rub over my back. 

It’s much later when I feel him move again, I feel tired and leaden but when he pushes something against my lips, I slap it away.

“No,” I mutter and press my face into his shirt. “No calming shit,” I add with more vehemence and I hear Snape chuckle.

“It’s some of my finest whiskey,” Snape says and when I look up, I see a tumbler filled with an amber liquid and the scent of old wood fills the room. 

“You are trying to get me drunk,” I say as I eye the tumbler suspiciously. 

Snape rolls his eyes and, at this moment, he is the prince, every trace of his older, more miserable self gone. “No, you dunderhead,” he says enunciating every syllable because apparently, I am an idiot who otherwise doesn’t understand anything. “One less than half-filled tumbler won’t get you drunk,” he huffs. “Should have seen your godfather when he gorged down barrels of this shit,” he mutters more to himself and I grin. 

“Sirius?”

“Do you have any more godfathers?” Snape asks with a sneer and despite the expression looks more like my prince than ever. “Now, do you want some or would you rather leave?”

I snatch the tumbler from his hand and hastily down the whiskey. “Bloody hell!” I gasp and start to cough. Snape smirks again.

“Who said to gulp it down like some ruddy pumpkin juice?” Snape asks and rolls his eyes again. “How unpolished.”

But he refills the tumbler with a little more, just the bottom again and hands it back to me. This time I carefully take a sip, the whiskey running down my throat, the warmth pooling in my stomach.

“Care to enlighten me why you are here?” Snape asks me as he sips from his own glass. Judging by the way he closes his eyes, he is enjoying the whiskey a great deal.

I frown. “Ehm, you gave me detention, remember?”

Snape hums. “Yes, but I have no idea whatsoever why you forced me to hand you one in the first place.” He opens his eyes, the flames from the fireplace are flickering in the black depth. “Why did you attack Malfoy?”

I huff but I know I am blushing. “Why not? He deserves it any day of the week?”

“That’s beside the point,” Snape admonishes me but there is the hint of a smirk in his eyes again. “I thought the headmaster told you to leave Malfoy to us?”

“I do but….,” I start but then trail off. If I tell Snape I did it to protect him, he’ll probably never believe me.

“Go on Mr Potter and tell me why you behaved like a frustrated toddler.” 

“Fine,” I say without any heat and keep my eyes on my lap where I concentrate on pulling threads out of my jeans. “If you’ll have to know, Sir, it’s your fault.”

“Mine?” I can imagine how Snape’s eyebrows threaten to disappear under his hairline. 

“Yes, yours,” I spit out and finally look up. “You need to be more careful with your cover or Malfoy and the other Death Eater spawn will take notice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Snape frowns.

I scoff. “You were too nice”, I start, motioning with the hand that holds my whiskey. “Took only five points when I was late, you even helped up Neville, for Merlin’s sake.” When he stays quiet and just stares at me, I wave about with my arms, splashing some whiskey onto Snape’s shirt. “Malfoy knows something, I’ve seen it in his eyes, the way he looks at you! You have to be more careful or something like can get you killed!”

Snape opens his mouth, then seems to reconsider and snaps it shut again. He stares at me for a moment and then empties his whiskey. 

“Perhaps you should return to your dorm?” Snape says and tries to push me off. 

What? No!” I dug my fingers into his shirt, letting the tumbler fall to the ground. Staring at Snape I hold on with all my might. “Why?” I squint at his face that looks as if someone has punched into it. “Are you really that uncomfortable with being called nice? Can’t stand that someone worries about you… ehm, your cover?” I refuse to blush. 

“Of course not,” Snapes snarls as he rises from the wingback and when I hold on, he simply drags me with him. “You plan to cling to me like a frightened kitten all night?” 

“If I need to.” We must look ridiculous, me with my legs around Snape’s torso, fingers curled into his shirt, Snape with his arms hanging to his side, looking for all the world as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Fat shit.

“Potter, this is highly inappropriate,” he starts in full teacher mode. Gone are any traces of my prince, only one frustrated Snape left. His eyes snap to where my groin presses into his stomach, the man is that tall and I can feel the muscles under his shirt flex as he fidgets slightly. 

Looking down, I go beet red and instantly let go of him, dropping unceremoniously to the ground. I had my legs around… my prick almost touched his…. I felt something, big, stirring as I slid down his body to my sorry heap on the floor. My cheeks are aflame as I gape at the wooden floor that is suddenly more interesting than anything else. 

Snape clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gazes down on me, I can feel his eyes like burning coals on my skin. Snape’s cock….my cock touched Snape’s. Merlin, where is a Hungarian Horntail when you need one? Or a basilisk? Or basically, anything that opens the floor and forces it to swallow me. 

Snape clears his throat again and turns away. “You…” he starts, his voice breaks and he clears his throat again. His voice sounds stronger now, calmer. It’s fake, I can tell. There is that slight wavering in it. “You should go now,” he says and then walks back to his desk, moves around it and hides behind the safety of his teacher’s space. 

I nod, stare at the ground some more as I hear him opening another scroll, the paper crinkles, then start to grade, vicious sounds from the quill as it massacres the assignment. When I am sure my dick is no longer sticking out like a piece of wood, and only then do I push myself up. Muttering something unintelligible under my breath, I walk to the door as if on autopilot. The noise from the old wooden door as I pull it open makes me flinch, out of the corner of my eyes I see Snape startle and make a fat red line all over the parchment. 

I step out and the door slams shut in my back. Privacy wards so strong that they prickle against my back slide into place and it’s only then I notice I forgot my trainers. My feet will probably be frozen off by the time I arrive at the seventh floor but not even the threat of all ten toes falling off can convince me to knock again. I have a feeling Snape wouldn’t answer anyway. Staring down I can still see my prick peeking up with interest and I groan. Suddenly, this year has gotten a whole lot more interesting but infinitely more complicated. Guess only my prick is happy about that.


	13. Pretense and Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently working on the Christmas Party chapter and it's getting too long so I decided to cut it and upload a short 2500 words chapter today. Enjoy, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the sweet kudos and comments and for everyone who reads this story.

The next morning starts as horrible as last night ended. I spent most of the night sprawled on my bed, ignoring my ill-mannered prick. No buddy, I am so not in the mood. Go away. 

Thoughts spin around my head, Snape’s burning eyes, his long fingers holding his crystal tumbler. I want them to end, I can’t deal with any of them. The tumbler reflecting the light from the fireplace gets replaced with my throbbing cock, the pre-cum glistening at the top as Snape’s warm fingers curl around the heat. Stoking it, always stoking it until I am so close…

I groan and turn around. This is a disaster. I can’t be in lo- stop, don’t go there. Later. I’ll think about it later. Preferably never but don’t tell the grown-up part of my brain, please. And yes, even if my brash behaviour of the last weeks indicates the opposite, I have a part that could under the right circumstances be considered almost, perhaps adult. I mean, obviously not the part that is linked to my cock, my traitorous, belligerent cock but that’s a given. 

I stay awake, much too scared of what I’ll dream until during the early hours of the morning I fall into an exhausted slumber, only to be roused by my mortal enemy Ron. Yes, normally he is my best mate, the one I’d die for but right now, with his freckles and his bright blue eyes as he grins into my sleepy face, I hate him. 

“Oi mate, you’ll be late for breakfast if you don’t get a move on,” he says, grin spreading on his face. 

“I hate you,” I say with vehemence and pull a face when Ron guffaws. “If I weren’t too tired to figure out where my wand is, I’d cast the cruciatus curse on you,” I add grouchily.

Ron snickers. “How was your detention with Snape?” he asks as he binds his trainers and then uses his wand to make my wand slap against my chest. Apparently, it dropped to the ground some time during the night.

“Lovely,” I mutter as I pull up the sheets. “Just lovely.” My voice is muffled now. “It was detention with Snape- what do you think?”

“Well,” I hear Ron getting up from his bed, the mattress making that funny squeaking sound. “I thought since you two were getting along better now, he’d go easy on you.”

I grunt in disbelief. As if. “Nope, still the miserable bastard he always was,” I say hoping to end the conversation. I can’t tell Ron what truly happened last night or about my vivid dreams. I’d never live that down. 

Ron lets out a puff of air. “Shame,” he says as he picks up his bag from where he flung it yesterday. “I promised Hermione to quiz her on her runes’ homework over breakfast and you’ll better hurry if you don’t want to be late to Charms.”

“Yes mom,” I answer and can hear how Ron chuckles good-naturedly. 

“You clearly have never seen my mom when she’s trying to wake us. Woman is a menace if you’ll ask me. Once she charmed our beds so that they spit us out by a certain time.”

“Sounds delightful,” I agree and then peek out from my sheets when I don’t hear Ron leave. “See, I am on my way to take a shower,” I say swinging my legs out. “I am almost up. No need to stand there and stare at me.”

Ron smiles self-consciously, walks over, and ruffles my hair. “Just worried for you mate,” he says and then clears his throat. “I am off then, see you later.” With another wave, he is gone and leaves me to take a long, cold shower.

The day gets marginally better from thereon. Magically, I make it down to the great hall early enough to have a cup of strong morning tea and then stuff a sausage into my mouth. No need to attend Charms on an empty stomach, after all. I meet Luna on my way out, today dressed in her customary Ravenclaw robes and a bright yellow ribbon in her hair that sports a blinking niffler. 

“Hey Harry,” she says dreamily as we fall into step with each other. “Did you like your sausage today? I thought they tasted a little off but it’s remarkably close to the full moon so that’s likely why.”

I can’t help but return her soft smile. Since joining the DA last year, Luna has become one of my favourite people to be around. Yes, she sometimes has weird ideas, but she is one of the most openminded people I know. I suddenly realize I’d be comfortable talking with her about almost anything. 

“My sausage was fine,” I reply and for a moment we are interrupted when the crowd in the entrance hall swallows us up only to spit us out onto the staircase. “You are heading this way?”

Luna nods and plays with a beautiful beaded bracelet she is oddly wearing on a necklace made of yarn around her neck. “Yes, I am on my way to Ancient Runes.”

“Do you like it? Runes, I mean?”

“I do, it is very relaxing. Many people have no idea that you can use runes to ward off any number of creatures. Here- “she says and pushes up her sleeve to reveal several runes drawn on her lower arm in red ink. “These will protect me from nargles much better than my Butterbeer cork necklace.”

“That’s great, Luna,” I reply with an honest smile. “This is a beautiful bracelet,” I add, pointing towards where it dangles around her neck.

Luna looks at it, gently almost reverently brushes her fingers over the shimmering pearls on the velvet band. “I made it myself over the summer to give as a present to my beloved,” she says with a faraway smile. “But they are involved with someone else, so I am holding on to it for now.”

“I am sorry Luna,” I say and gently clasp her arm. 

“Don’t be Harry,” Luna says with the gentlest smile I’ve ever seen. “They are happy right now which is all I ever wanted for them. Sometimes love works in mysterious ways you know. Did you know that Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were secret lovers? Their falling out was as much about blood purity as heartache. Of course, everyone knows Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff were madly in love until they died but only a select few know that Rowena was really a wizard named Rupert who chose to live as a woman.”

I stare at Luna unsure what to say. Her eccentric beliefs do not bother me unlike Ron, but the concept of someone choosing to live as the other gender, or the reasoning behind it, are something I never considered. As an experiment, I try to imagine dressing in a short skirt and referring to myself as a girl but it makes me feel uncomfortable. Not uneasy but something flutters in my stomach imagining Snape’s simmering eyes. 

“I feel like you can be trusted with this now Harry,” Luna says earnestly, throwing me another one of her dreamy smiles. 

“Um, thank you, Luna,” I say, and her smile widens. “For trusting me, that means a lot.”

Luna hums as we reach the corridor where my Charms classroom is. I feel nervous as I turn to her and gently keep her from walking away by clasping her arm. 

“There is something I need to ask you, Luna,” I start and feel a little nervous. It’s not as if I am asking out a girl for a real date but I feel queasy, nevertheless. “How would you like to come with me to Slughorn’s Christmas party next Saturday?”

Luna’s silvery eyes widen. “Oh Harry, I hope you are not hopelessly in love with me,” she says with an unhappy expression, brushing over her bracelet again. “I am already taken.”

I splutter a little bit. “No worries Luna,” I say letting go of her arm as if burnt. Very smooth Potter. “Just as friends. You know how crazy everything is right now and I’d feel weird going with somebody who’d see it as a proper date.”

Luna’s face lightens considerably, and she throws her arms around my neck. “Oh Harry, how lovely that you are so considerate of your beloved as well. Of course, I’d accompany you and your secret is safe with me, always.”

I take a deep breath to tell Luna that I have no beloved but then Hermione passes us and stares at me and Luna. Hastily, I let her go and take an additional step back. I have no idea why I am feeling so guilty, but I do. I smile at Luna again despite Hermione’s imploring gaze. 

“Cool, I’ll see you then, ehm how about I fetch you at your common room at seven o’clock?”

Luna nods. “See you on Saturday,” she says turning away but then looks back over her shoulder as she walks away. “Be careful of the Wrakspurts Harry. I’d hate for you to have to attend the Christmas party confounded.” With a cheery wave, she disappears into the throng of students crowding the corridors. 

Hermione frowns. “Wrakspurts?”

I shrug. “One of Luna’s more eccentric ideas.”

Hermione stares after Luna but then seems to remember that we're already late for their class. As they enter the classroom she leans over. “I am glad you asked Luna,” she whispers as they sit down on their desk. “I trust her more than most and you’ll have a good time.”

“If I don’t get infected by Wrakspurts,” I whisper back with a smile and Hermione chuckles as Flitwick clears his throat to start the lesson.

“Well, she certainly thinks outside the box,” Hermione whispers back before opening her textbook. 

***  
The next days pass in a hurry of a barrage of classes, study sessions, assignments to write and quidditch training on Wednesday. It starts to rain about five minutes in and by the time we are done, most of us are not only soaking wet but look as if we touched a socket. I am used to it, but I can hear Ginny complain all the way back to the dorm. 

Not once do I run into Snape and he never attends any communal meals which both disappoint me but also settles the butterflies in my stomach. If it’s up to me I see him next on my graduation day but it’s much more likely I must face him next Monday. So, the days pass and on Saturday morning I feel like skipping the stupid Christmas party. I am not sleeping well, Slughorn’s constant tales of his Slug Club members make me sick and last Thursday I lean over to Ron, who is painting two little matchstick men who look as if they are flipping each other off. 

“Wonder why he never talks about Snape,” I whisper, pretending to jot down notes.

“Why would he?” Ron keeps his eyes on his parchment where he makes the two men dance. 

“He always talks about that stupid Slug Club,” I mutter under my breath, “Surely, Snape was a part of that. The man is brilliant, invented spells when he was younger and knows more about potions and defence than anybody I know.”

Ron frowns. “Perhaps, but you forgot that tiny detail that he took the mark and his career kind of stalled after that. Slughorn collects heroes not monsters.”

“Snape’s no monster,” I hiss at my parchment furiously. “He made a mistake, it happens but Dumbledore says he’s on our side, he helped me and quite frankly he is ten-times the man all these dunderheads are that Slughorn goes on and on about.”

Ron turns to me and he smirks. “Like your mother?”

I growl softly. “Well, I question her common sense in getting caught up in such an obvious trap. Slughorn collects people and once they are of no use to him anymore, he discards them. Stand-up guy.”

Hermione leans over from the other side. “What are you two arguing about?” she asks as she stirs the potion in her cauldron.

“Snape,” Ron answers still smirking. “And how stupid the Slug Club is.” When he sees Hermione’s face, he raises his hands. “Harry’s words, not mine.”

Of course, now Hermione glares at me but I am done with Slughorn and his stupid games. “He uses people,” I hiss and throw some half-heartedly minced mandrakes into my bubbling potion. “Or he would see how brilliant Snape is and not hide his picture.”

“Of course, he uses people,” Hermione says surprising me with her acquiescence. “And Professor Snape became a Death Eater.”

I growl once again and slash my silver knife into my cutting board. “He regrets it,” I spit at my desk, keeping my face down. “And he’s on our side, Dumbledore said so.”

Ron snickers and I kick his legs under the table- hard. He grunts in pain but still grins, so I turn back to Hermione. Her face looks as if she just saw something cute, like a kitten and I come to the horrible conclusion that I am that stupid kitten. Her hand covers mine and she nods.

“I don’t doubt it,” she says softly as she lowers the temperature in my cauldron that is starting to bubble over. “You are absolutely right Harry; Professor Snape should have been a part of the Slug Club who Professor Slughorn should be proud of. Unfortunately, not many people can know about his spy work for obvious reasons.”

I nod and sigh. “I don’t think I am going to attend the stupid party,” I say grouchily.

“But Harry, you already invited Luna and Ron and I are going as well,” she presses out and looks at Ron for help when I simply shrug. The redhead purses his lips and then smirks again. Honestly, if he doesn’t stop that constant smirking like an idiot, I’ll punch him.

“You know,” he says as he bends over his cauldron as if to check the potion. “There’s a fairly high chance that Snape will be there as well.”

Have I mentioned how much I hate Ron recently? He throws me an innocent gaze and turns back to his potion that, as I see to my satisfaction, is turning an ugly shade of red. Hermione butts right in.

“Yes, of course,” she whispered excitedly. “Professor Snape will be there, that’s a given so it would be stupid not to attend considering how much you fancy him…” She trails off when she see my stunned face and the way I gasp. 

“Hermione, we don’t talk about Harry’s weird taste in wanking material,” Ron says with a snicker as Hermione blushes. “Or that we know how much he fancies the git.”

Again, I kick Ron under the table but this time he expects it and pulls his leg away in time. Hermione sighs, still beet-red.

“No matter who fancies who,” she says with a straight face. “You have absolutely must attend the party tonight. It would be rude to cancel that late.”

“Snape’s probably going to wear a fancy dress robe,” Ron whispers and snickers into his cauldron when he sees how my eyes look glassy as I imagine Snape in a flattering dress robe. I’d die to see the man in Slytherin green. Turning to Hermione, he winks. “He’ll attend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses on who Luna's beloved is? Luna is such a sweetheart, I could write her all day.


	14. Why more potion is not always better (Snape disagrees)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun to write and all of your lovely kudos and comments truly inspire me every day. ❤

I look a mess. As I watch myself in the mirror, pulling on my hair, trying to force it into submission with Sleekeazy’s hair potion, my eyes follow my useless grooming with a more desperate expression every second. I’ve been at this for over an hour now, still only dressed in my briefs I am standing in front of the huge mirror in the boy’s bathroom. The seconds are ticking away, turn into minutes and still, I am looking like a dishevelled bird who fell out of the nest. 

“How’s it going?” Ron peeks his head into the bathroom and frowns. “No offence mate, but it looked better an hour ago.”

“Not helping Ron,” I growl as I put even more of that slick potion into my bird’s nest of a hair that by now looks greasier than Snape’s on a good day. 

Despite what everyone says, the man has good days. Like two years ago. At the Yule Ball. Snape had looked so good then, his hair for once shiny and well-groomed, his black dress robes tailored with an excellent fit and his dark eyes a simmering heat in the frozen great hall, reflecting the light from the candelabras and the hovering ice cubes…

“Harry, are you even listening to me?” Ron stands behind me and is staring at me in the mirror over my shoulder. 

I finally let go of my hair and turn around. “Sorry, got lost,” I say with an apologetic shrug.

“Yeah, bet you were salivating about you-know-who!” Ron smirks. 

I arch a brow. “Really? You-know-who?”

“Snape, if you want me to blunt.” Ron’s grin widens. “You look a mess, Harry.”

I huff and walk around him into the bedroom to flop onto my bed in desperation. I’ll probably smear potion all over my sheets, but I stopped caring hours ago. This whole thing is turning into a disaster.

“You need help,” Ron states from the door. 

I scoff. “From whom? A fairy godmother?” I purse my lips. “Perhaps she will conjure me a pumpkin coach?”

Ron chuckles. “You are such a drama queen Harry. Wait here- I’ll be right back.” He hesitates and then snatches the invisibility cloak from my bed. “I need this. Don’t go anywhere.”

I watch him disappear and scowl. Where should I go? I look like a scrawny fledgeling doused in grease. More time ticks by until I hear steps on the stairs. The door opens, Ron steps in and closes the door. 

“We are good, take it off!” he says and the next moment Hermione appears from under my invisibility cloak. She looks lovely in a mint green dress, with white lilies in her hair. A frown mars her face as she inspects me critically and then sighs.

“What did you do to your hair?”

“Sleekeazy’s hair potion,” I mutter into the sheets and then groan. “I can’t possibly go, Hermione.”

She clicks her tongue. “Don’t be so dramatic Harry,” she says and pulls me into an upright position. When has Hermione gotten so strong? Just like Ron she exhibits an enormous amount of physical strength. I allow her to pull me to the bathroom, because I have a tiny amount of hope left that, as usual, my friend will sort this mess. “First, you’ll need to take another shower and wash out that potion,” she starts my to-do list. “Then we reapply just the tiniest bit and smooth the rest out with a spell.”

“There’s a spell?” I ask, my lips formed into a big O. Hermione rolls her eyes, looking remarkably like her 11-year old self. 

“Of course, there is a spell,” she says while she starts the shower and pushes me under the spray. “There’s a spell for everything.”

I shriek. “Hey, I am still wearing my underwear!”

Hermione huffs. “Just wash out the sticky mess and we dry you with a spell in a minute.” It feels weird that she watches me with a critical eye as I soap up my hair and then wash all the grease out. As soon as I step out of the shower, she flips her wand, and I can feel the uncomfortable sensation of the drying charm wash over me. 

“What has you so rattled?” Hermione asks as she pours a tiny amount of the potion into her hand and then motions for me to sit down on my bed. 

“Nothing,” I lie staring down at my scrawny legs. They still look much too thin but over the last two years, I seem to have slowly grown out of my childlike lankiness. I can see muscles moving under the smooth skin as I fidget on the bed. 

Hermione puffs out air. “Don’t worry, we’ll tidy you up in a bit and then all of us will attend the ball together, won’t we Ronald?”

Ron looks up from his place on his bed where he is leaving through an old quidditch magazine. “Sure, we will. Don’t want Cinderella to miss his pumpkin coach,” he snickers, and I throw him a dirty look. 

Hermione is obviously done with my hair after casting two or three more charms on it and then she pulls a little beaded mirror from her purse. “Here,” she says offering me to gaze into the reflective surface. “What do you say?”

From inside the mirror, an obviously still terrified young men looks back at me but at least my hair lays smoothly against my head, for once on its best behaviour. 

“You are a genius Hermione,” I praise her with a big smile. “Can you teach me those spells another time?”

Hermione returns the smile as she puts back her mirror and shrinks the purse. “Of course, there loads of personal grooming spells I can teach you. Now-“ She turns around and looks for my brand-new sapphire blue robe, finding it crumpled over the footboard. She clicks her tongue again, blasts the thing with her wand to straighten it and then hands it to me. “Get dressed now Harry,” she orders and beckons for Ron to follow her out of the room. “We’ll wait down in the common room. But please hurry, we are already late.”

***

Slughorn’s office is draped with hangings in Christmas colours of red, green, and golden which make the room look as if we were in a tent. It is crowded and stuffy despite the space looking much bigger than usual. Soft music is coming from a wireless in a corner, little house-elves are carrying around trays filled with drinks and snacks over their heads, making it look like the sparkling silver platters are floating in mid-air. Golden cubes are hovering under the ceiling, inside them little fairies that sparkle and laugh as they dance to the music. 

Slug Club members and their guests mingle everywhere but there are also older wizards and witches I’ve never seen, standing in little groups, chatting, and enjoying the snacks that are offered with the drinks. Ginny, who seems to have chosen to attend alone, is socializing with a group of students, and chatting with a girl I recognise as one the Ravenclaws from her year. She looks up when we walk in and her eyes show a warmth for a moment that confuses me until I notice that it is directed at Luna rather than me. 

“I need a drink,” Ron states from my right and grabs a glass off one of the trays downing it in one go. 

Hermione rolls her eyes but gets one herself and starts nipping on it. I follow their example and offer a drink to Luna, determined to be a considerate date tonight despite peering in every corner to see if I can find Snape. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Luna says dreamily. “You are a real gentleman.” She accepts the glass quite gracefully and takes a sip. 

Ron leans over with a conspirative grin. “Snape is over there with a dude who looks like his brother,” he whispers and barks out a laugh when I jerk my head so abruptly that I spill part of my drink.

I see instantly what Ron alludes to. Snape stands in a group of three wizards, one of them quite small, the other one tall and lanky like the potions master, with shoulder-long black hair and eyes simmering with mirth as he listens to Snape. Next to them stands Slughorn, dressed in emerald green dress robes lined with silver. Snape wears his usual expression of slight boredom and superiority but, for a change, not outright disgust. Instead, he is talking with the taller man, a curt smile on his face that looks the politest I’ve ever seen him- perhaps apart from whenever he converses with Dumbledore or McGonagall. 

“Harry, my dear boy, such a pleasure you could finally attend one of my humble soirees.” Slughorn looks extremely pleased with himself as he walks over as soon as he notices me. It is fairly obvious that he thinks his party anything but humble but nevertheless, I nod politely, taking a cue from Snape. If he can be civil, I can be as well. “This is an excellent opportunity for you to meet loads of interesting and well-connected wizards, some of these newly forged acquaintances could be beneficial in your future career plans,” he continues as he pushes me away from my friends. I cast one last pleading look back at Ron, but he only pulls a face and smirks as Slughorn forces me to walk away with him. “And powerful, all of them, but that goes without saying,“ Slughorn states and then chuckles. “Of course, many of them are indeed pleased to meet you, my dear boy, consider me the solicitor in these encounters. There is notably one who has been nagging my ear off to meet the ‘chosen one’ for weeks, just over here.”

I consider to either pretend to be sick or simply extricate myself forcefully until I see that Slughorn is steering me to the group that includes Snape. They all look up as soon as we get closer and Snape’s eyes narrow and then slowly as if against his will, roam from my face over my chest down to my feet. There is a puzzling expression in his eyes, one that forces a deep chuckle from the other Snape-like looking man. Immediately, Snape startles and pull his eyes back up to my face, a familiar sneer on his features. 

“Harry, of course, you know Professor Snape, but might I introduce famed author Eldred Worple and his associate Sanguini?” Slughorn beams at the two men as if he is presenting the most delicious feast on a platter to them and judging by the expression in the two men’s faces, I have the sinking impression that he might. For different reasons. The short, stout man clasps my hand, the most delighted look in his amber eyes. 

“Harry Potter, what a pleasure to finally meet you. Eldred Worple, perhaps you read one of my books? The most recent was an encyclopaedia about elves in the Carpathian Mountains, Elusive Elves.” I only have time to non-committedly shake my head when he already continues. “Might I offer you a piece of advice, Mr Potter?” Without waiting for my input whether he should or not- which would have been a resounding no- he pushes on. “People are waiting with bated breath for your autobiography, I am convinced there are so many stories to tell about the boy-who-lived, in his own words, of course. From the tragic story of your parents’ sacrifice and the triumphant return to the wizarding world to your unwavering intention to vanquish evil- it basically writes itself, my boy. One or two interviews, each about five hours long, should be enough and we could publish the book in half a year if you are interested. Fame and glory await you, on top of that quite a substantial amount of gold if I might say so.”

The disgust to that idea must have shown on my face because the taller of the two wizards, Sanguini, twists his lips in amusement, revealing two long, sharp canines. Snape rolls his eyes, if at me for my skill to attract crazy fans or for the ludicrous idea of writing a book about my life, I’d never know. 

I turn back to Worple trying to keep from scowling. “I am not interested at all and I already possess a substantial amount of gold in my vault at Gringotts,” I press through my gritted teeth. “I appreciate the offer but have to decline.”

Worple looks as if he wants to give his pitch another shot when he is distracted by the way Sanguini’s eyes follow a seventh-year Ravenclaw as she passes us. His canines seem to grow substantially as he wipes his tongue over his lower lip.

“Sanguini, please we are at a school, remember,” he says with an exasperated smile and pushes a pastry into his hand. “Here, why don’t you have one of those until we find you a more suitable snack later?”

Sanguini looks down at the mint tartlet and then takes a bite. His dark brown eyes simmer with that expression again as he stares at me, or more precisely my neck. 

“You have a beautiful neck, Mr Potter,” he says with a smirk and chuckles darkly when I instinctively touch it and turn away. “You needn’t worry, I am fine with my pastry,” he adds. “For now.”

“Sanguini is a vampire Mr Potter,” Worple explains what I already suspected. “I made his acquaintance when I studied his coven. Blood Brothers: My life amongst the Vampires chronicles my experiences living with them, currently on sale at Flourish & Blotts.”

Snape looks as if he bit into a lemon again, by now such a familiar expression that it calms me. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, then uncrosses them only to clasp them behind his back. Sanguini bites into his pastry again, a smirk on his face as he takes in Snape’s discomfort. I get the feeling there is history between those two as if they know each other but Snape’s face is back to his usual stoicism and the vampire’s attention is currently occupied by the neck of another student walking by. He inhales, smiles, and then accepts another pastry from Worple.

“Severus, another glass of wine?” Slughorn offers as he returns from schmoozing some other wizards next to us, pushing a crystal glass under Snape’s nose.

He glowers but accepts it sullenly, emptying it in one go. Hermione and Ron are nowhere to be seen, but in a corner on the other side of the office, Luna and Ginny are animatedly chattering. I can hear Ginny’s bright laugh as she listens to her friend. Part of me wishes to be with them, to chat with my friends but the other part enjoys immensely to be stared at glumly by Snape. 

“Mr Potter is one of my best students in class,” Slughorn says jovially as he sips from his delicately cut crystal glass. “He must have inherited his talent from his mother, of course. Lily was brilliant in potions, remarkable really.”

Snape arches an elegant brow, his black eyes simmering with dismay. “Well, I can’t say he has ever shown any particular prodigy for potion making in the five years I taught him but perhaps a new tutor unleashed a slumbering talent in Mr Potter?” I just know he is alluding to the prince and so I smile sweetly.

“I suppose, Sir, one only needs the right incentive to learn and at times a new tutor who finds the right words to encourage your inclinations is all that is needed.” I hold his displeased gaze with my smirk until he looks away and huffs.

Snape opens his mouth to say something when we all hear a commotion coming from the entrance from where Filch drags in one blonde Slytherin, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. 

“Professor, I caught this student here trying to sneak in,” he proclaims for all to hear and Malfoy’s face turns an unattractive shade of red. “Do you want me to remove him from the perimeters? Or perhaps punish him?” Filch looks positively thrilled with this idea.

“No, no Mr Filch,” Slughorn says a forced smile on his face, obviously detesting the attention this incident is getting. “Now that Mr Malfoy is here, he should enjoy the celebration. Here,” he pushes a glass into Malfoy’s hands. “Have a drink Mr Malfoy and mingle with your friends on this joyous occasion. It is Christmas after all.”

Before Malfoy can react, Snape vanishes the glass with his wand and grabs Malfoy’s arm so tightly that the blonde winces. 

“I am afraid I cannot allow that,” Snape says through gritted teeth. “If you’ll excuse us, as Mr Malfoy’s head of house it is my duty to deal with this matter.” Without another word he turns and drags Malfoy with him to the door.

“Well,” Slughorn starts looking a bit flustered and sporting a fake smile if there ever was one, “who wants some more wine?”

Everybody is so focused on this little display that I successfully duck out of the office and hurry after Snape. I can’t really say what’s driving me, fear for Snape or a desire to figure out what Malfoy’s been up to. I know the headmaster told me to stay out of it, that he and Snape had it sorted but I am a Gryffindor, I love mysteries and more importantly solving them. Really, Dumbledore and Snape should know better. It’s not my fault, your honour!

The corridors are dark, only lit by a couple of torches on the walls and in the distance, I can see Snape dragging Malfoy around a corner. I can hear Malfoy complain about something, his voice isn’t nearly loud enough to make out the words- sneaky Slytherins. A Gryffindor you could hear yelling through all of the dungeons from miles away. I regret not having taken my invisibility cloak with me but who would have anticipated that I’d need it? Well, I should have but this forced time-out by Dumbledore squelched my instincts. 

The closer I get the more I can hear Malfoy’s nasal voice, whining just like the little prince he is. He sounds like a toddler who didn’t get his cookie. I smirk as I creep up to the corner and peek around the edge of the wall into a bathroom. Malfoy is standing with his back against the wall, looking defiant and close to stamping his foot. Toddler indeed. Snape is towering over him, with his back to me, the only thing I can see is his black robe. 

“….you just want to steal my glory,” Malfoy whines and narrows his eyes. He looks a bit mental, to be honest. “But I have been given this task, and I will succeed and proof my worth to the dark lord. You won’t steal this from me as you stole from my father Snape!”

Snape sighs. “You are going about it the wrong way,” he murmurs, and I must strain my ear to actually make out his words. Like the accomplished spy he is, he keeps his voice down. If Malfoy knew what was good for him, he’d take a leaf out of Snape’s book instead of throwing a tantrum. “You are much too obvious in your endeavour and so far, you have nothing to show for your efforts.”

“So what,” Malfoy says crossing his arms across his chest. “if it takes me a little longer than I anticipated? I’d rather get it done right than disappoint my lord. I learnt that lesson last year,” he adds with venom as he stares at Snape defiantly.

“I just want to help you Draco,” Snape says sounding not nearly as annoyed as I feel. Whiny, little shit. “I swore an unbreakable vow to your mother to support and help you in your task-“

Malfoy sneers, however, not nearly as effectively as Snape. “Well, then I guess you have to break that vow because I do not need any help, Snape! I will get it done, you hear me, alone and I will clear the Malfoy name again!” Like the little diva he is, he pushes Snape away and stalks down the corridor, his steps the only sound in the darkness.

I hold my breath, watching Snape as he moves to a sink and looks into the mirror. It’s too dark to make out his reflection in the reflective glass but judging by the slump in his shoulders, he’s probably frowning. Or sneering, it’s hard to tell with Snape and I really don’t know the man that well. He sighs again, the sound reverberating in the bathroom.

“I know you are there,” he states quietly as he turns around, looking to where I am hidden behind the edge of the wall. “You are not nearly as sneaky as you believe yourself to be, Potter,” he adds and now I can see his sneer. It holds surprisingly little venom.

“Next you tell me I am not as charming as I think I am,” I reply walking over and leaning against the sink next to Snape’s. 

Snape doesn’t huff as I expected, instead, he rather looks down at me over his hooked nose, his eyes as usual unreadable.

“How much did you hear?” He sounds tired and I fight the impulse to send him to bed. The man has bags under his eyes and looks exhausted. Perhaps, that’s what Snape needs, someone to take care of him, someone who gives him a time out when he looks like shit? Not Dumbledore, who sends him on his next mission. 

“Enough to know that Malfoy is a whiny little shit,” I reply pushing myself up onto the edge of the sink. “And with the noise he’s making, he’d be a terrible spy.”

Snape’s face shows the shadow of a smile, something between a smirk and a sneer. “As a matter of fact, I have been tasked by the headmaster to convince young Mr Malfoy to defect and perhaps resume my occupation if and when I lose my cover.”

I pull a face, barely masking my disgust. “As I said, he’d be dead within a week, plus he wouldn’t know how to fill your shoes.” Snape stares at me but I ignore it. “You even had Hermione constantly questioning your allegiance. Bloody hell, I reckon even most of the teachers question which side you are on most days.”

“I feel I have to inform you, that flattery will not get you the desired information.” He purses his lips and brushes some invisible lint from his robe. The silky fabric strains over his chest as he moves. “I’d heed the headmaster’s advice to leave Mr Malfoy to us and instead enjoy your Christmas while you can.”

I chuckle. “When have I ever heeded any advice, Sir?” When his eyes cloud over I raise my hands. “Fine, I’ll leave it alone, for now.” Snape nods seemingly satisfied with my promise, but I am not done yet. “What’s an unbreakable vow?”

For a moment I think Snape won’t answer me but then he simply exhales audibly and with a flick of his wand casts several privacy charms. Crossing the room, he closes the door and the turns around. His face looks impassive, almost aloof but I see the exhaustion in his features more pronounced than before. 

“An unbreakable vow is exactly what it pretends to be,” he says and walks back over to face the mirror again. “You swear an oath, and the spell makes it so that if you don’t uphold your end of the bargain, you are punished.”

“Punished? With what?”

Snape purses his lips. “The punishment for breaking the unbreakable vow is death.”

My jaw goes slack as I stare at him. “Death? So, what does that mean? If you don’t kill the headmaster, you’ll die? How does that even work?”

“Do you want me to explain to you the intricacies of this particular spell?” Snape asks with a smirk. When I stubbornly nod, his smirk gets wider. I feel like I ran into a trap without noticing. “How much do you know about magical core theory? About the foundational attributes of spell weaving? Correlation between Dark Arts and properties of healing magic?”

I raise my hands in surrender. He got me. “As you well know, not much and I assume you are not willing to explain the basic principles to me so I can understand?”

Snape leans over, his face half in shadow and the other half trenched in a flickering orange from the petrol lamp. 

“I’d love to but unfortunately I have a meeting to attend,” he mutters, and he is so close that his breath tickles my face. 

“A meeting?” I sound breathless. Why am I sounding breathless?

“With the teaching staff,” Snape answers and when he pulls away, I must grip the rim of the sink tightly to keep myself from grabbing his shoulders and pulling him even closer. “It will be delightful, like the other dozens of them I had to attend this year.”

I snort. “Perhaps they’d be easier to tolerate if you were drunk? Could blame it on spiced eggnog from Slughorn’s Christmas party?”

Snape huffs. “Minerva would have my head,” he replies and then seems to remember who he is talking to because he straightens his shoulders. “Be that as it may, you should either return to the Christmas party or to your dorm, Mr Potter.”

When he turns around, I place my hand on his arm, just so very lightly. “Where will you celebrate the holidays Sir?”

Snape tenses but then turns back around, one brow arched. “At Hogwarts of course,” he says his eyes guarded. “Poppy has been going through an alarming number of pepper-up potions, so I need to restock the infirmary.”

“That sounds like… fun,” I start to ramble. “I will spend Christmas with the Weasley family, like last year, but not at Grimmauld, no, we’ll be at the Burrow, that is the Weasley’s home, not mine, no my home would be Hogwarts, or after Siri- er last year, most likely Grimmauld.” Snape stares at me as I catch my breath and I feel obligated to explain. “I inherited Grimmauld place from my godfather, Sir.” Bloody hell, I am more nervous than before my sorting.

Snape nods. “I see.” We both stare some more and it sure is awkward, but I like the way my stomach tingles. “Well, I need to take my leave now.” He turns again and this time I don’t stop him. At the door, he pauses and then turns his head. “Enjoy your holidays Potter,” he says and then is gone before I can respond.

In the end, I whisper a soft, “Merry Christmas,” into the empty bathroom. “Don’t die on me before I’m back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next on, Christmas and a surprise visit by a certain Slytherin.


	15. My anchor, my home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from yours truly. 
> 
>   
> I want to express what a joy it is to write this story. I recently lost my 16-year-old cat and immersing myself into writing has really helped me stay sane. His name was Pipi and we adopted him living in Houston in 2005. A victim of Katrin, his name means keepsake in Mandarin. I adored my little man and will miss him terribly. It feels even worse since we already lost another cat, Spikey, in August. 2020 is turning out to be a horrible year, and not only because of Corona. In this current madness, I find that reading and writing our favourite stories can remind us that there is good in this world. Hopefully, some of you find solace in it. This will eventually have a happy ending for our two guys. It just takes a while. ❤

The Burrow is just as mismatched in winter as during the summer, towering above the ground in unhealthy angles that should be forbidden by the laws of nature (and very likely is but when did magic ever care about muggle things like that?). However, the snow covering not only the grassy front yard but particularly Molly Weasley’s gnome-infested garden softens the sharp edges, the absurd pitches and turns them into something beautiful. 

It was cold this year; according to Arthur Weasley they had to add additional warming charms to the chicken coop to keep the little things from freezing to death, but that naturally doesn’t stop me from standing in the open doorway, shivering from the cold and watching Remus Lupin approach the entrance. He looks tired, well more tired than usual, the dark circles under his eyes reminding me uncomfortably of the lines of exhaustion on Snape’s face. I’ve only been here for a day or two but so far, I successfully ignored any pining thoughts about that infuriating Slytherin. Who is hopefully ensconced in the Hogwarts dungeons, brewing flawless pepper-up potions for Madame Pomfrey and not on some stupid spy mission courtesy of one genial but meddling headmaster. 

“Harry.” Remus warm arms embrace me, close around my still trembling shoulders. “It’s good to see you,” he adds pulling away with a warm smile. 

“Good to see you too Professor,” I answer as we walk into the warm hallway. The door softly closes behind us and shuts out the blistering cold of fresh snow. I can see little ice crystals in Remus’s light brown hair as he takes off his hat and banishes it. 

“I haven’t been a professor in quite some time,” he replies as he shrugs out of his shabby thick coat. “Haven’t I told you before to just call me Remus? Otherwise, I might have to return to calling you Mr Potter,” he jokingly threatens me.

“Please don’t, I get enough of that from Snape,” I say with a snort and instantly want to slap myself. Why did I mention him at all? To Remus of all people? I don’t want to draw any attention to our weird relationship, not when I am myself unable to properly process it.

“So, it’s true that you two have gotten closer?” He doesn’t sound cross or judgemental, but his words make me blush. Very smooth Potter. Before can I say something, anything to save this awkward moment, he smiles thinly. “My apologies, I am coming from another order meeting and overheard a conversation between Albus and Minerva. It is really none of my business, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

I finally close my gaping mouth and shrug. “He is less of an ass than before,” I say casually, sounding as gruff as I can. 

Remus places his hand on my shoulder, the touch warm and pleasantly heavy on my skin. “I am aware that we, your father, Sirius and me, never had a chance to reconcile with Severus, to patch the hurtful transgressions of youth. Your father because he never got the chance to grow up properly and Sirius, well he could never let go of the animosity he shared with Severus. Perhaps because of his incarceration at a young age, perhaps because he was simply unwilling to see anything but the evil Slytherin in Severus. But that doesn’t mean you can’t reach out and mend bridges Harry, in fact, I’d like to think your father but particularly your mother would be so proud of you for being a much better man than most of us ever were.”

I like the idea of my parents not being put off by my attraction to Snape and Remus is right, just because Sirius and my father could never let go of their hatred, that doesn’t mean it also has to define me. Still, I notice that Remus neglected to mention someone.

“What about you?” I ask as we walk into the empty living room. Molly is in the kitchen, Arthur in his shed and everyone else upstairs still sleeping on this early Christmas day. “Do you like Snape?”

Remus chuckles. “I wouldn’t go so far,” he says as he sits down on the sofa. “There is too much of the past still between us and perhaps that’ll never change but I trust him, mostly but not exclusively because Albus does, and I will forever be grateful that even these days I get an owl every month with my wolfbane potion in it. Likely, Severus brews it on the headmaster’s orders but I’d like to think he at least doesn’t mind providing it, considering the constant adaptations.”

I sit down next to him, pulling my knees to my chest. I am still cold, but this is what you get for waiting at an open door for several minutes. I can almost see Snape’s face twisting into a sneer at my idiocy and I hear his berating words as he snuggles me into a warm blanket and parks me in front of the fireplace. Because yes, that’s where we two are at right now, still Potter and Snape but with a twist. 

“Adaptations?” I force my attention back on the conversation at hand. I seem to have developed a tendency to get lost in my own thoughts all the time, and most of those thoughts revolve around Snape. 

Remus nods. “Yes, when Albus offered me the job as your Defence against the Dark Arts professor, he sweetened the deal with an unlimited amount of wolfsbane potion.” His eyes seemed far away for a moment as he looks out the window. “I took the potion before, many years ago and back then the transformation was still incredibly painful. However, I have noticed changes in the last years, starting when Severus began providing the wolfsbane during your third year. The transitioning is less agonizing, and I feel less like a mindless beast during the full moon. I attribute this to modifications done to the wolfsbane and if there is one thing I know without any doubt, it’s that Severus Snape is one of the most inventive wizards and potion masters I know.”

“So, he improved the potion even though he dislikes you?” Somehow this doesn’t surprise me considering it’s Snape we are talking about. The man is a walking paradox if I ever saw one, like a lock that nobody has found a key for yet. He not only invented several spells during his schoolyears at Hogwarts but also learned legilimency and occlumency, both according to Dumbledore difficult skills to master. And despite being stressed by his spy work, teaching, and running after me saving my life all the time, he apparently has found the time to improve a complex and difficult to master potion. Despite disliking the recipient. 

I know all of this but for most others Snape is an ugly Ex-Death Eater stuck in a job far beyond his capabilities, an assumption he can’t even challenge without losing his cover. No wonder he hates most people. Has Dumbledore any idea in what position he is forcing Snape? How humiliating this is? Is it intentional? All these questions give me a headache, so I brush them aside. Later, I try to make sense of this all later. Returning my focus back on the conversation, I can see the corners of Remus’s lips turn up as he nods.

“It sounds ludicrous, but I learnt to never discount anything when it involves Severus.”

I return the smile with a weak one of my own. “I’ll believe it in a heartbeat,” I say. “Who else was at that meeting?” I nonchalantly ask, trying to not let on how much I am dying to know if Snape was there. Apparently, I am just as bad at hiding stuff as Malfoy is because Remus smirks. 

“The usual crowd,” he starts, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Kingsley, Moody, of course, several new members from the ministry who are disillusioned by their employers’ approach to fighting this war, several of your professors, of course, Minerva, Filius, Pomona, even Poppy.”

I sigh. “You really need me to spell it out?”

“Spell out what?” Remus looks quite innocent, but I am not buying it. I get enough of this from Ron at times and can see through the cobbled-on naivety. 

“Did you see Snape there?” I ask hoping I am not blushing again. 

“I did but I did not get a chance to talk with him,” Remus replies. “He came with Albus and left just as quickly when we were done.”

Well, at least I know he is alive and didn’t get killed on some stupid death eater meeting. I am not even sure if they have those and find it difficult to imagine Voldemort and his followers sitting around a table and discussing their atrocities. I’d ask Snape about it, but I am fairly sure he won’t answer me.

“Harry, I hope you know that you can talk with me about anything without fear of judgement?” Remus asks and I can see in his eyes that he is dead serious. I am beginning to wonder if I am radiating gay vibes all in a sudden or why does everybody seem to know about my new inclinations? I mean, Snape- alright the man is a spy, so he is bound to pick up stuff about the boy-who-lived sooner than anybody else, including the boy-who-lived himself. Dumbledore- yeah, I’ve been suspecting he uses his legilimency on me ever since first year. Hermione- the smartest witch of her generation and all that, plus she is actively keeping track of these kinds of things for Ron and me so that she can swoop in and safe the day whenever we inevitably mess up. But even Molly Weasley’s been different this Christmas break, hugging me all the time and as soon as somebody, usually Fred or George, tease me about unrelated stuff, she darts in like a mother hen ready to defend her helpless coop. 

And now Remus. I have no idea if he wants to talk with me about my sexuality or me fancying Snape or perhaps the burden of being the chosen one, but I do know that I’d rather let someone pull out all of my nails in excruciating deliberateness while forced to listen to Gilderoy Lockhart reciting a speech about fame and how finicky a friend it is. But before I have a chance to say something, Molly Weasley pokes her head into the living room.

“Ah Remus, I thought I heard you,” she says as she comes over, wiping her hands on her apron. “How are you?” Getting up, Remus is pulled into a bear hug and I swear to god Molly ruffles his hair, just like she does with all her kids and me. And Hermione. And I caught her doing it to Tonks once. Also, on second thought the young Auror seemed to enjoy it. 

“I am fine,” Remus replies with one of his van smiles, that probably will spur Molly on to offer him something to eat.

“I still have some pancakes over from breakfast, do you want some?” she asks as she already steers him into the kitchen. 

Nailed it. With growing amusement, I watch Remus try to wiggle out of Molly’s feeding attempt but fails, something I experienced myself hundreds of times. No one denies Molly Weasley when she wants to take care of you. I mean you can try but it’s pointless. Been there, done that. Listening to Remus’s stuttering as he is shoved into the wooden bench and a big plate is placed in front of him with piles of pancakes and a steaming cup of tea, I shortly consider joining everybody upstairs. George and Fred had brought a whole chest of new inventions from their shop with them and are looking for naïve testers. Of course, Ron, Ginny, even Bill agreed enthusiastically, only Hermione looked as if she wanted to excuse herself to get some studying done for the non-existent exams this year. I had the excuse of waiting for Remus and used my puppy eyes again. 

Deciding that I rather have some fresh air, I put on my warm duffle coat and quietly leave the house. Outside the air is chilly, still wet from the memory of fresh snow and the ground is crunching under my feet as I walk along the gravel path to the perimeters of where I know the security wards extend to. As I reach out my hand, I can feel the prickling sensation of my skin tracing the powerful charms. Probably Dumbledore’s work. I understand the intent, but it makes me feel a little caged, like a bird locked away for his own protection.

I could probably breach them, but I have no idea what’s going to happen then, and I am in no mood to find out. The intent here is to find some peace and quiet, to get away from it all for a while and not to alert the occupants of the Burrow to my whereabouts. So instead of passing the wards I turn to my left and walk through the knee-deep snow covering much of the front yard. It has been a particularly harsh winter with snow coming down to the southern coast and during last night another twenty inches have fallen. It’s quiet, the only sound the rustling of the wind as it sweeps through the leafless branches of the trees and the rattling as it pulls at the shutters of the upper windows. 

I feel cold, the wind reaching under my coat, as I stroll along the perimeter of the yard, the wards my only guiding light. Whoever cast them, did a splendid job- even after three minutes of walking they lose none of their effectiveness. I keep my hand stretched out, the tingling of them almost caressing my skin as I continue my track. They never felt hostile, but I imagine it would feel different to someone who’d want to harm me. For me, the presence of them reassures me, keeps the unsteady parts of me from rearing their head. Even if I can’t see the Astronomy tower anymore, it’s still somewhere inside me. 

Following the wards, I walk in a circle until I can see the shed where Arthur Weasley is working on his Christmas present, a muggle gramophone his children pitched all in to afford. I’ve never seen someone more excited about the prospect of playing with one’s toys and yes, muggle apparatuses are gigantic toys for Arthur. Perhaps one of his most endearing traits. To my left is the old swing set, the red paint peeling off from years of disuse. The seat creaks as I sit down and stare at the bulky house with its snow-covered roof and the smoking chimney. 

One of these days I want something like it, a place filled with love and warmth. Once this war is over, provided I survive the final battle, I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to find someone who will be my anchor, my home. Someone who sees me as more than the chosen one, someone who can look past all the crap and see the scared little boy without turning up their nose. Deep down inside I know who I want that someone to be, can picture the face, hear the soothing tone of his voice but I don’t dare to utter his name, too afraid to break the spell of the last weeks.

“Morning Potter.”

I almost topple out of my seat, just barely catching my footing and the warm hand in my back steadying me sears through my coat, through my Weasley Christmas jumper to burn my skin. Looking sideways I can see the barely concealed mirth in Snape’s dark eyes, the way his lips almost curl upwards. It’s hard to see at first but once you spend some time with the guy, he is less of an enigma. 

“Bloody hell Snape,” I gasp as I grip the chain holding the swing tighter. I don’t want to fall on my face, Snape will never let me live that down. “Don’t do that, you scared ten years out of me.”

Snape huffs. “Hopefully the newfound age brings with it wisdom,” he says as he leans against an ancient oak tree trunk. The barren branches reach out into the sky, covered with inches of fresh white snow. “Why are you not inside?” 

I shrug. In truth, I don’t even know myself why the thought of being inside does something weird to my intestines. All I know is that I feel as if a stifling chain has been lifted from the moment I walked out of the door. 

“Just so you know, even though I brewed about fifty more pepper-up potions in the last days I have none on me right now,” Snape says arching a brow. He sounds gruff but I can hear the teasing note in his voice.

I snort. “How many more are you expecting to brew this break?” A shiver runs through my body and I burry myself deeper into my woollen coat. 

“I don’t have any classes till after New Year, so who knows?” Snape answers with a shrug. “Perhaps something will come up, but I doubt it.”

“Something Voldemort related?” I ask curiously. I assume this question is fine otherwise Snape would not have brought it up. Nothing this man says is an accident after all. 

Snape affirms it with a sharp nod. “Many of the pureblood families cherish their lavish Christmas festivities and the Dark Lord knows better than to antagonise them at a time when he needs to close ranks before the war starts.”

“So, you expect a full blown-out war in the near future?” I ask almost toppling out of the swing with how far I lean forward. Nobody ever talks with me like that, always wanting to protect my sensitivities when truthfully, I’d do much better knowing details. For years this has been a constant source of frustration to me and has, in fact, sparked many of my lone adventures over the years. 

“Anybody who doesn’t is an inane fool in my eyes,” Snape returns, his face twisting into a derisive sneer at the thought of such people existing. “The only reason the Dark Lord has been quiet is that he is currently rallying his troops, accessing his strength and planning the first incursion on our world.”

“Hogwarts?” It is the first place that comes to mind. Not only because it is where I am residing but also because of the significance of the castle to Riddle. It was perhaps his only true home and he knows that if he can take out Dumbledore first, his conquest of the wizarding world will be so much easier.

“Perhaps. It is not the only target though.” Snape watches me as I barely hide my shivering in the cold and then he flicks his wand casting the strongest warming charm I ever felt. It drapes like a cosy blanket over my body, keeping out the blistering cold with ease. “He is no fool and if and when he begins the war, it will not be heedless. It will be executed in a precise, deliberate manner especially when the headmaster is still alive.” 

“Which he will be of course?” I ask not caring to hide the distress I feel at the thought of Dumbledore being gone once I face off against Voldemort. 

“Of course,” Snape replies and the deep rhythmic quality to his voice assures me that none of the horror scenarios my mind comes up with all the time will come to pass. “In fact, he was quite cheerful at our order meeting, especially when he came upon the candy.” 

“Ah yeah, the order meeting.” I sound glum but once again I make no effort to hide it. This here is my safe space and Snape is its guardian. “It’s strange you know, being the chosen one and then somehow my invitation always gets lost in the owl mail service somehow?”

Snape snorts and it’s quite a sight. I am stunned how much honest expressions of delight transform his face into something that I can only describe as beautiful. It’s the hill I am ready to die on. 

“If it’s any consolation I have repeatedly petitioned for you to be included in as much of our preparations and meetings as possible but in light of recent events the headmaster has doubled down on shielding you instead.”

I pull a face. “Ah yes, we must shield the crazy one.”

“Nobody thinks you are crazy, Harry,” Snape says with a frown.

“The weak one, then?” I jump from the swing and walk over to lean against the same tree Snape is. “That’s why I tried my best to keep it together all these years, you know? Because once you falter, once you show any weakness at all, the predators descend, they never trust your strength again.”

“The people who matter do trust your resolve,” Snape says and brushes a stray strand of his inky black hair out of his face. It has started to snow again, little flakes that get entangled in the black silkiness of his hair and I die to drag my fingers through the tresses. I bet they feel soft and smooth against my calloused fingers. 

“It doesn’t feel that way though.” I kick against the trunk and dozens of additional snowflakes flutter down from the overburdened branches. Snape sneers and I stifle my laughter. His hair looks almost white now, mine is probably the same. “Sorry.”

With a flick of his wand, the snow disintegrates from both our heads. “Are we having a pity party now Potter, because if we do, I am afraid I forgot my bring enough sympathy?”

“I don’t want sympathy,” I reply shoving my hands into my coat pockets. “I want respect and to be treated like an adult. I do turn 17 next summer.”

“That is a much-improved attitude,” Snape says. “I’d suggest being louder in your demands, Potter. The world won’t serve you anything on a silver platter, you need to be ready to fight for it. As I told you last year, life isn’t fair. It never was.”

I sigh. “Fair enough.” Looking back to the house I can see the smoke coming out of the chimney. “Did you come alone?”

Snape’s gaze follows mine. “No, I accompanied the headmaster.”

“Dumbledore is here? Did anything happen?”

“Not at all, the usual Hogwarts business during a break.” Snape follows me when I walk back towards the house, suddenly nervous. Why would Dumbledore visit me at the Burrow if nothing extraordinary happened? Snape seems to read my mind (he’s not using legilimency as I am keeping my eyes on the house). “If I am not mistaken, he promised you to tell you everything, didn’t he?”

“Now?” My voice sounds strangle high-pitched as I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets. 

“Albus thinks it would be prudent using the rest of the school year to further prepare you and whoever is willing to fight at your side.” It’s difficult to gauge if Snape agrees with this assessment.

“That sounds as if he expects for there not to be a seventh year for me.”

Snape turns his head and smirks. “Very astute, Potter.” As we get closer to the house, I can see into the kitchen through the window, where Dumbledore sits and sips from a cup of tea. He looks his usual, garish robe and hat and his white hair trailing down his back.

I try to not let on how nervous I am as I push open the door and walk into the kitchen trailing in snow and dirt from outside. Behind me, Snape discretely flicks his wand to clean the entrance and our boots and I cast him a grateful look. 

“Hello, Harry.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes seem even brighter today, flickering with amusement as he looks from me to Snape and back again. “Did you enjoy your walk? I myself am prone to relishing fresh air whenever I am stressed.”

“I am not stressed!” I press out sounding more defensive than I care for. 

Dumbledore smiles. “Excellent. Come, sit down with me and have a cup of tea.”

My mouth suddenly dry, I squash myself between the table and the bench and am relieved when I see Snape sitting down next to me rather than in the chair next to the headmaster. Dumbledore winks and takes another sip from his china cup. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world, exactly as he has done for all the time I‘ve known him, but I am acutely aware the next couple of minutes will change my life forever. I am making my first steps from childhood into adulthood, or at least I am going to willingly step out from the shield he has provided for years and I am nervous. 

Molly Weasley pours me a cup of tea and then after a soft squeeze of my shoulder leaves the room. Casually Dumbledore casts the single most powerful privacy and silencing charm I have ever encountered and then leans back in his chair. His blue eyes rest on me, now darker and simmering with deliberation. I swallow heavily as I take a sip from my tea, my hand slightly trembling. I can feel the heat radiating from Snape next to me, his body providing a source of protection and strength that I draw comfort from. Whatever I am about to hear, he will be with me. It really can’t be so bad, can it? I mean what’s the worst Dumbledore can tell me? 

I am wrong.

“I am dying Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger but once again, this chapter got too long. I find roughly 4000 words a good length, not too short and still something that can be easily read in one sitting. Expect the next instalment sometime next week.


	16. Of Does and Snowflakes (and Christmasses)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, I am not completely happy with this chapter but I have this tendency to edit longer than it actually takes me write in the first place. So be kind with this one and enjoy. ❤

“I am dying Harry.” Dumbledore takes another sip from his cup, his blue eyes twinkling with an unnamed expression as he takes in my reaction. “Not right away. If fate allows it, Severus potions and knowledge in fighting off dark curses will keep me alive long enough to see you succeed.”

“Why?” My voice is hoarse, and my hands are shaking until Snape stills them with his own. His skin is warm, calloused and it somehow lets me breathe again. 

“I made a terrible mistake Harry,” Dumbledore answers, apparently not bothered by the fact that one of my teachers holds my hands. He does not look particularly bothered by any of it, just drinks his tea and then his eyes light up when he sees the plate with Christmas cookies. “It is a long story; one I will tell you one day but suffice to say that I stumbled over an artefact of sorts and could not resist its temptation. I knew it was cursed but perhaps I was arrogant enough to believe that I could resist it, so I put it on. Of course, the curse instantly activated and would have killed me had I not used magic to stem the flow. Instantly, I returned to Hogwarts and Severus was kind enough to contain the curse for the time being.” Dumbledore, having finished his tale, bit into a gingerbread closing his eyes as he chewed it. I can’t help watching his damaged hand as it grips the teacup, the grey skin looking remarkably similar to how it looked at the beginning of the year.

“Isn’t there a way to break the curse?” I ask turning to Snape when Dumbledore keeps his eyes closed.

“I am working on it,” Snape answers, obviously not bothered by the headmaster’s peculiar behaviour. “For the time being, containing and locking it away is the only recourse.” Somehow, knowing that Snape takes care of it, fills me with instant relief. Not only is he competent enough to succeed but it also means it’s not my place to fix this. 

Dumbledore hums and then opens his eyes again, as he pours himself another cup. “I have the greatest confidence in you Severus but please, don’t torture yourself with these efforts. I am, after all, an old man; the concept of death is less frightening to me than to someone as young as you two.”

“Be that as it may headmaster,” Severus says, once again his mouth curled as if he bit into a lemon. “It’s not only your personal feelings on the matter that have to be considered. You are far more than just a wizard; you are a symbol of the fight against him. You are worth far more than many of us, maybe with the exception of Potter. So, if it is all the same to you, I continue my efforts in breaking this curse.”

Dumbledore reaches out and his good hand pads Snape’s that has tightened into a fist. “As I said, I have the utmost confidence in you, my dear boy. If someone can do it, it is you, but we are not here to discuss my hopefully still far away demise.”

“We are not?” I frown. “I agree with Professor Snape though, we should discuss and try to stop it.”

Dumbledore chuckles. “I am glad that I find you two in so much agreement.” His gaze trails to where Snape’s hand still covers mine. “I’ve always believed the two of you are much stronger together than working against each other.”

Snape jerks his hand away as if burnt and holds the headmaster’s gaze and they are locked in a battle of wills for several moments. 

“He is the chosen one, after all,” Snape says eventually, enunciating each and every single syllable and there is a stony expression in his eyes. 

“He is Harry,” Dumbledore replies and pads Snape’s hand again. His eyes come to rest on me, the expression now more serious. “I am sorry Harry that even my avenues are limited in protecting you from this media scrutiny.”

I shrug. “That’s fine, I ignore it most of the time. I have plenty of experience with it after all.”

Dumbledore nods. “That is commendable, but no adolescent should be forced to live his formative years under such constant audit. And might I add most of the monikers those publications choose are quite absurd when they could simply use words like brave, resourceful or loyal.” I feel my cheeks heat up and curse my propensity to blushing but mercifully Dumbledore continues, his blue eye twinkling. “Now, I remember the last time we talked you were a bit under the weather, Harry, so I’d like to ask how are you doing? And please, don’t mistake this question as a courtesy or an attempt to put any kind of pressure on you. I am aware how difficult the last years, in particular the last summer, has been for you and simply need you to answer honestly so we can gauge the best way forward.”

I swallow, straighten up my back and wish for Snape’s hand to be back on mine. I found so much reassurance in that tiny gesture, that I wonder how I can ever go on without it. 

“I am-“ I want to say ‘fine’ but the headmaster asked for honesty so I change direction at the last second. “-sometimes better, sometimes worth. I have felt truly alone in this for a long time and I need to remind myself a lot that I have people, friends with me. I am not alone but sometimes it feels that way, Sir.”

Dumbledore has been listening intently and then nods. “Understandable my boy, I fear we, me in particular, placed quite a lot on your shoulders. I don’t blame you in any way, in fact, I blame myself more than anyone else. I am determined to do as much as I can to help you carry this burden, to steady your gait. If and when you will stand before Tom Riddle, you won’t ever feel like you are raising your wand alone. This I swear to you, Harry.”

I must admit it feels good to hear these words, to know that from now on others will help me in this coming war. No one should expect an adolescent to carry the weight of war on their own and for a time, it felt exactly that. I peek at Snape, who leans back in his seat, his eyes set on the window next to us, where outside the snow is dancing through the air, beginning to pile on the windowsill. I am sure he is listening to every word said but tries to give us some privacy at the same time. His black eyes follow the snowflakes as they fall against the window glass only to spin away again. 

“Thank you, Sir,” I say, my eyes still on Snape’s pensive face, his eyes unreadable once again. “I appreciate that.”

“I do remember promising you all the details, but I must ask for some leniency in the meantime. Most of all, because what I know is mostly conjecture and only some of it actual facts. However, those I will share with you today. This artefact, I told you about, has been- as you already figured out- in the possession of Tom Riddle, in fact, it has been a literal part of his soul.” Dumbledore takes a slow sip from his tea and then sighs. “In his quest for immortality he searched for and found a way to safeguard a part of his soul in an object, so if he died, he’d have an anchor in the world of the living. These horcruxes are a concept that is millennia old but even the most wicked of Dark Wizards or Witches never entertained to actually create one, for it meant to commit an act of unspeakable evil, murder with intent and then to split the soul, to maim it and store one part in an inanimate object.” 

Dumbledore’s eyes are trained on the table, his good hand plays with the rim of his by now empty teacup. “Of course, murder was not something Tom was averse to and in his quest for immortality any means justified the end. I have told you before how your capacity to love, to feel emotions the way you do, is what sets you apart from him, Harry. Because it takes a certain amount of depravity, of total disregard to other people’s lives, to murder so frequently. It is my theory that he feels neither love nor happiness, perhaps the only emotion he is capable of is sadistic pleasure and fear. Fear of death. Creating horcruxes was in that way a logical conclusion to his quest for immortality.”

A sudden coldness sweeps through my body and settles in my stomach. My hands rub over my arms to keep the chills at bay, but I feel hopelessness at these words. Certainly, I knew most of this, how depraved Voldemort acts but how can I stop someone who does not fear anything, especially if parts of his soul are stored in objects? Wait a minute, does that means that he- I look up to meet Dumbledore’s gaze and see my own horror reflected in his eyes. 

“Horcruxes? You think he-“ I can’t continue, the thought just too awful. 

“-Created several of them, yes.” Dumbledore sighs deeply. “I found and destroyed one of them and you, Harry, have done the same in the past, albeit unwittingly.”

“I did?” I try to wreck my brain but come up empty.

“Tom’s diary, in your second year. It is my belief that it was also one of Tom’s horcruxes. As you can see, Harry, the situation is not hopeless, on the contrary. We already managed to destroy two of them, and Tom has no idea we are onto him in this matter.”

I snort bitterly. “You are lethally cursed after destroying the one you found and I am sure Professor Snape has something to say about young, arrogant wizards who survive the odds purely by luck and not because of any extraordinary skill.”

“I got cursed because I could not resist the temptation to put the ring on and you have shown tremendous skill and resourcefulness over the years. I am not troubled to know you will be the one to end Tom’s reign of terror for good, because I know you have proven yourself to me over and over.” Dumbledore pads my hand just the same as he did Snape’s only minutes ago. “I know this is a lot of information and as I said, there is more yet to come as we get to the bottom of this mystery, together. You are not alone in this, in fact, you have the best of the wizarding world at your side. No step you’ll take will be ever be done in isolation.”

I swallow hard and do my best to retain the tears that are prickling at the corners of my eyes. I am such a failure; how can they think for one minute I could be strong enough to do any of this? I startle when I feel Snape’s hands on mine again, calming the shivers and squeezing. I look up and meet his steady gaze, finding a source of strength there that fills my heart with conviction. 

Snape leans over, his warm breath caressing my cold skin. “I am not a very good judge of character Potter,” he says quietly, as Dumbledore hums softly. “In fact, I did my best to not see any of your redeeming qualities. I will try to do better in the coming months.”

I turn my hand in his and clutch his in return, my voice sounding a little throaty as I mumble a soft, “Thanks”. I am aware it must look weird, perhaps dubious because Snape is still my teacher after all, but Dumbledore surprises me when he places his hand over Snape’s and mine.

“That’s all that can be asked of anyone in the end,” Dumbledore says with an uplifting smile. “Nothing more will be ever be asked of you, Harry. Just to try your best and trust the people around you. The next months will be full of challenges but I can offer you another respite. If you feel you need it, we can postpone our plans to prepare for this war, to shield you a little more. Please, do not think for one second that this would be proof of weakness. On the contrary, it shows tremendous strength to know your own heart, Harry, to know when to stay or when to proceed.”

A part of me wants to grip this lifeline, this one chance of a breather but then I look up again, meet Snape’s steady gaze, no judgement- he wouldn’t blame me for needing more time- and my decision is made. I am not alone in this, there is truly no reason to despair. I got powerful wizards on my side, my friends and the people who want to save our world from the clutches of a monster just as badly as I do. And there, in Severus’s dark eyes, is a promise for things to come, a promise he more than likely is not aware of himself. He’ll be by my side, so there is no need to rush this. Crossing bridges when I come upon them is really my jam in the end. It’s what I am good at.

“I am ready,” I say, my voice strong and steadfast. I am not alone, maybe that conviction is all I need to face the next weeks? “I am not alone, after all,” I echo my thoughts and Dumbledore smiles.

“Never,” he says and then releases mine and Snape’s hands. This time Snape does not pull away but keeps his warm fingers curled around mine. I don’t mind.

“So, where do we go from here?” I ask Dumbledore whose eyes rest on the table where Snape holds my hand. 

“Cautious and steady, wherever we need to,” he answers, and I understand this is just as much about the war as me and Snape. I get it, we are still teacher and student, Death Eater and Chosen One but perhaps there might be a way forward. “First, I’d like you to spend the rest of your break here, among your friends. I already talked with Molly and Arthur; they are delighted to have you around. Once the school year resumes, there will be some elect changes. Severus was kind enough to agree to teach you some additional defensive and offensive spells. Some of them quite dark but I trust him to match your curriculum to your needs. There will be more frequent order meetings, that I’d like you to attend. Additionally, our sessions will continue. I have more to tell you about horcruxes, after all. And lastly, there is a request I have of you, Harry. If you feel up to it, perhaps you could resume your tutoring sessions from last year, for anyone who feels the need to attend. I trust you and Ms Granger to set these up but with full approval and support from the faculty this time. Let me know if you need any additional resources but try to keep the existence of those sessions a secret for now.”

I nod, feeling lighter than ever. I can do that, in fact, this practical application of my skills sounds like right up my alley. I remember how rewarding it felt to teach the other students last year and this time there will be no sneaking around, no scraping together of materials. It will be for, the time being, my contribution to the war, one that I feel comfortable giving. My fingers tingle where Snape’s skin touches, it’s like I am a battery drawing much-needed energy from his touch. 

“Can I ask you a question, Sir?”

“Of course, always,” Dumbledore answers with a broad smile. “In fact, I’d encourage you to do so frequently. I am an old man, with so much knowledge crammed inside my head that I at times forget your age. So, feel free to ask if I incorrectly assume knowledge on your part. After all, knowledge is power.”

“How many horcruxes do you think Voldemort recreated?” I am barely able to conceal my horror at the thought of someone maiming their soul like that.

“I am not yet sure Harry,” Dumbledore replied, rubbing his chin as he stares out of the window. “As I told you when we started these sessions this year, from here on we enter the territory of clues, of theories and leave evidence-based facts behind. That is not to say that we simply guess- all of what I am telling you is based on research. I have a couple of items I suspect have been used for these sinister purposes. Do you remember I told you that Tom likes to collect trophies?”

I nod, remembering vividly the little box filled with mementoes of the torture done to the other kids in the orphanage. 

“I will show you more of those memories in the next weeks, but I can anticipate that he used objects with meaning to him, many of them linked to his own life or to the Hogwarts founders. One of them was a locket once owned by Salazar Slytherin and a cup from Helga Hufflepuff. I am convinced that he also used something belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw, but so far, I had no luck finding evidence on what that object could be. I will use the next weeks trying to figure out where these objects are currently stored, but I know one thing: Riddle won’t just leave them lying around. When I found the ring, it was protected by ancient, powerful spells, that were extremely difficult to break.”

“Do you think he knows that two are destroyed?” I find it difficult to conceive that someone wouldn’t notice when parts of their soul are gone.

“I don’t think so, Harry. In fact, I assume his soul is so deeply damaged by it being broken so many times, that these different remains of a once intact soul are unable to feel any connection to each other. It is, therefore, paramount that we keep these horcruxes and our hunt for them a secret.” He winks at me. “Of course, I won’t ask you to keep this from your friends. Ms Granger and Mr Weasley have proven time and time again that they are able to keep a secret. Severus knows as well, but apart from that, I’d like to keep all of this to ourselves for now.”

I nod again and peek a glance at Snape who has been listening in on the conversation. I have a feeling many of the things that were shared here today, were new to him as well. His eyes meet mine and then the tiniest hint of a smile creeps onto his face. It transforms his stern face, his sharp features. Snape has a lovely smile, with friendly wrinkles around his eyes and the constant scowl ages him far beyond his 37 years. 

“When are we going to start my tutoring sessions, Sir?” I ask him with a smile of my own. I am looking forward to these sessions much more than is appropriate. Duelling with sexual tension sounds like my jam.

Snape arches an elegant brow. “So eager for supplementary classes, Mr Potter?” 

“As I told you before, Sir, all I need is the right motivation,” I reply and delight when there is a spark of amusement in Snape’s generally unreadable eyes. 

“I see.” He shrugs carelessly, looking more like my prince at this moment than in a long time. “We can start as soon as school resumes. But I warn you, I will not tolerate any idleness in my class. I expect you to apply yourself and do not neglect your other lessons.”

I wink. “I am looking forward to it.”

Snape’s cheeks show a tiny amount of pink and Dumbledore clears his throat. “Amiss as I am to interrupt you two, perhaps we should leave Severus,” he says, while his blue eyes twinkle with mirth behind his half-moon spectacles. “I am afraid our next quest does not allow for any delay.” 

“Can you tell me where you are going?” I ask Snape as we rise from the table. I already miss his fingers around mine.

“I am sure you are aware of the saying, curiosity killed the cat, Potter?” Snape says leaning over and now there is an expression in his eyes that sends shivers down my spine. 

I grin. “I do but you know me, that never stopped me before,” I whisper back and brush against Snape’s arm as if on accident. 

“You are a menace Potter,” he notes as he shakes his head. 

Dumbledore chuckles again as he turns around at the door that leads to the garden. “I am not completely unsympathetic to whatever relationship you share,” he says with a smile. “But I fear I have to remind you that as of right now you are still teacher and student and despite the exceptional circumstances, I am afraid I cannot overlook these impediments.”

Snape draws away instantly and growls low in his throat. The sound goes straight through my body right to my cock. It is perhaps the most savage sound I ever heard. 

“I assure you headmaster, all I can muster up regarding Mr Potter is annoyance in the face of his insubordination, nothing more.” He looks miffed and his black eyes sparkle with irritation at the insinuation of any lewd conduct.

Dumbledore sighs so unlike himself that I must fight to keep in a snort. He looks as if he is starting to feel frustrated with his potions master. 

“I never implied any transgressions, Severus,” he says as he drops the powerful wards around the kitchen. “It was simply a reminder.” He turns to me then, ignoring the indignation in Snape’s eyes. I wink again just because I can, which causes another soft growl. Dumbledore sighs again. “Please, both of you.” He places his hand on my shoulder as he looks at me sincerely. “Try to enjoy the rest of your break Harry. The powerful wards Severus insisted on strengthening should keep you safe until you return to Hogwarts.” After one last squeeze of my shoulder, he turns around and steps outside. 

When Snape and my eyes meet, he looks even more vexed, probably because Dumbledore wasn’t supposed to tell me about the wards. I remember how comforting they felt, how familiar. I should have known those were Snape’s work.

“Thank you, Sir, for keeping me safe,” I say earnestly, not wanting to antagonise the other wizard further. 

Snape straightens his shoulders and banishes all traces of emotions from his face. “It is my duty to keep you safe, Potter. You are, after all, the Chosen One.” There is no bitterness or jealousy in these words, there are more like a warning. If to me or us both, I can’t say. 

“Nevertheless, I appreciate it,” I insist, taking a step back. “This quest of yours, it is not… dangerous, is it?”

Snape shrugs. “I doubt it. The headmaster accompanies me but other than that, I will know what is expected of me once we reach our destination.”

Somehow those words alarm me. I am not really thinking Snape will be in danger, not with Dumbledore at his side, but still, it bothers me that I wouldn’t know if something were to happen to the Slytherin.

Snape nods, but before he can step out, I place my hand on his arm. “Please, if it’s not too much trouble, could you, I don’t know, send me an owl, or something once you are done?” When Snape raises a brow, I fluster. “I mean, you are not obligated to, obviously, and I am not feeling entitled or anything, I reckon you will be fine, with the headmaster, but also because you are powerful yourself, naturally. You survived serving him, after all, for all those years, but still-“

Snape interrupts my rambling by touching my shoulders and god, am I grateful in this moment. This tendency to blabber is really one of my more awkward traits, even if no one triggers it quite the way Snape does. “We really need to work on this inclination to blather on.” He sighs. “I see about letting you know once we are done.” He sounds reluctant as if he isn’t sure if that’s proper. 

I smile at him, not too intimately as if not to change his mind. “Thank you, Sir and godspeed.”

Snape nods curtly and then steps out of the door without another word. I can hear two popping sounds, indicating they apparated away. I stare out the door for quite a while hoping whatever they are up to is not dangerous. 

It is much later, I am spread out on my cot, Ron is snoring next to me and I can’t sleep. It snowed the whole day, and we had a snowball fight in the afternoon. I adore the Weasleys, they are the closest I have to a family but still, if I could, I’d rather be at Hogwarts, waiting for Snape to return. I sigh, turn around on my side and stare out of the window. The moon is shining down crescent-shaped from the dark sky onto the snow-covered grounds. From far away I can see a light coming closer with great speed and I don’t know how, but I know this is Snape’s way of letting me know he is fine. 

I get up and sit on the edge of my bed as the brightest, most solid patronus I have ever seen, in the lovely shape of a doe passes through the walls of Ron’s bedroom. The redhead jerks awake and stares at the impossibly bright patronus with his mouth wide open.

“What the fuck-“ he starts but is interrupted by Snape’s booming voice.

“I report successful completion of our quest,” the doe says in Snape’s deep voice. “I am back in Hogwarts where I will be busy brewing potions till the new year and rejoicing in the absence of students. Please refrain from pestering me in the meantime and go to bed.”

The doe almost looks as it is sneering and then as I stretch out my hand it dissolves before I can touch it. Once the room is dark again, I chuckle and crawl back into bed. It is warm and comfortable as I close my eyes, feeling tired all in a sudden.

“Merlin, you’re really pursuing the git, aren’t you`” Ron groans. “Just my luck.”

I grin into the darkness of the room. “Good night Ron,” I say and the last thing I hear before sleep claims me is Ron’s snort.


	17. Stepping into a Parallel Universe (Snape scoffs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy writing this story. Slowly but surely, things come together and make hopefully more sense (or at least engaging reading). I have so much planned and set up for several chapters now, I can't wait to share more with you all. Hope you are safe, wherever you are on this planet, and remember, wear your maks, wash your hands and social distance just a while longer. We'll get through this, together. 💜

I am finally back in Hogwarts after New Year’s. It was fun, I even got a tad drunk when Fred and George spiced the punch and might or might have not rambled on about how handsome Snape is. I really don’t remember the specifics, I only recall Ron rolling his eyes and Hermione tucking herself into my side on the sofa, as the night got longer. I woke up with a nasty hangover, it felt as if something was trying to split my head from the inside. I can’t say I want to get drunk again any time soon, but it wasn’t the worst experience either, except the aftermath.

The feast was uneventful. I was excited to see Snape again but was disappointed when he didn’t attend. I have to admit, I am a tad worried about it him but then again I assume Dumbledore would have said something if he was hurt, right? I mean he knows how much Snape means- eh, how close we- bloody hell, that I need to start my lessons with him soon. Right. It’s way past midnight and sleep eludes me. I want to take my cloak and run to the dungeons but that would look rather pathetic. Now, that I have turned a new leaf, intending to contribute to the war efforts, I don’t want to appear weak again. No matter what Dumbledore says, how he reassures me- I can’t break down in front of Snape again.

So, I sit in the warm cocoon of my bed, curtains closed, privacy charms in place, and to my own surprise, I am not wanking. No, I have my potions book in my lap, opened to a site where the prince takes the piss on his fellow classmates. I am snickering and trying to guess which of the dunderheads he mentions might be Sirius or my dad. My fingers gently brush the sharp edges of his handwriting, remembering Snape’s skin against mine. It’s not so much erotic but surprisingly wholesome. I just know he is somewhere in the castle, hopefully sleeping in his bed. Just reading his lines, let’s me feel closer to him.

I almost fall out of the bed when the curtain is pulled away and Ron stands there, eyes red and puffy from sleep, his ginger hair sticking out in every direction and he says something that due to the privacy charms I can’t hear. I roll my eyes and unceremoniously pull him onto my bed, inside the protected space.

“Privacy charms,” I explain, snickering.

Ron nods and sits up. “Can’t sleep?” His eyes flicker to the book in my lap.

I shrug. “I am not tired,” I lie and Ron snorts.

“You are missing Snape, aren’t you?” He sighs when I blush and push the book under my cover protectively. “Look, I am not here to give you a talking-to, or make fun of you. I am your mate; you can talk with me about these things. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t, that I am not one hundred per cent in your corner.”

I lean back against the headboard, pulling my knees to my chest. “I know Ron,” I start and brush over the back of his hand in reassurance. I just know he is worried I might still hold his rubbish reaction to me being gay against him when he has given me no reason to believe that. In fact, Ron’s been nothing but supportive, even jumping into the twins’ face when they teased me about my drunken ramblings. “Look, if I knew what to say, I’d do it in a heartbeat but things are… not really solid.”

“What do you mean?” Ron sits next to me, his feet dangling out of the bed as he pulls out some jellybeans from my secret stash behind my pillow. “Do you ever…?”

I frown. “Kiss? Merlin, no. Snape won’t touch me till I am no longer a student; he made that fairly clear.”

“So, he returns your feelings?” To his credit, Ron looks uncomfortable but tries to reign it in. It’s not so much that it’s a guy we are talking about, but Snape. I get it. It would be similar if Ron professed his undying love for Malfoy. Or Crabbe and Goyle.

“Well, we haven’t talked about it but there is something there, I can feel it.” I grin. “We flirted, or something fairly close to that. It's hard to say with Snape.”

“You must be looking forward to those training sessions then,” Ron said with a smirk. “Being alone with the git, getting physically close. You never know, something might happen there.”

“Definitely. I can’t wait to, you know, see him again,” I add with a blush.

Ron chuckles. “Believe it or not, I get it. Not with Snape, Merlin never with Snape but I felt similar last summer when I didn’t see Hermione for weeks. I was really glad to have her around this Christmas break.”

“So,” I say and smack him against his chest. “Anything you wanna confess, mate?” I waggle my eyes suggestively.

Ron snorts. “I was with you every night. Do you think we shagged next to you?” He is now blushing too but it feels good to have this talk with my best friend.

“Who knows what you do when I am asleep?” I tease him. “Seriously, no kisses, no nothing? One of us has to get some action you know. Respectfully, of course.” Consent and all, that's important, even I know that.

Ron chews on his lower lips, obviously contemplating if he can share something with me. I leave him to it and rather fiddle in the drawer of my night table for some chocolate bar.

“We kissed, on Christmas eve,” Ron admits eventually.

“Really? How was it?” One part of me wants details the other… not. It’s my two best friends we are talking about after all.

Ron’s cheeks flush. “Nice. It felt… like coming home in a way.”

I try to imagine how it would feel to kiss Snape, but the man is so imposing that the thought alone overwhelms me. In some way, Snape still scares me. Not like in years before; I know he is on my side; I trust him. But rather, in the way he affects me, what he turns me into. A quivering mess at times.

Taking a bite from my chocolate bar, I rest my head on my arm. “So, did you guys talk? About what this means?”

“Take a guess,” Ron says with a smile. “It’s Hermione we are talking about. We decided to take it slow, you know. Not rush anything but see how it all works out, how… people react.”

I squint my eyes and frown. “People? You are not talking about me?” When his face turns an adorable shade of pink, I snort. “I knew you two would end up together for years and I am crazy happy for you. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Hermione was concerned that you might feel left out or as if you are no longer a part of…” He motions in the space between us. “…us.”

“Look, I am not a basket case and I have my own things, especially in the coming months. My lessons with Snape, meetings with Dumbledore, order meetings to attend and who knows, maybe Snape loses the giant stick up his arse and actually acts on what is between us. But even if he doesn’t, I’ll be fine.” When Ron doesn’t look convinced, I sigh. “You two do not plan to abandon me, do you? We’ll still go to meals together, study and go to classes, the only thing that’s different will be that this awkwardness between you and Hermione will finally be gone. I couldn’t be happier for you two.”

Ron blinks and then slowly a smile spreads over his face. “Thanks, mate, that means a lot. To both me and Hermione. I don’t think we could stand it if you weren’t okay with us.”

I finish my chocolate bar and then yawn. “I am, one hundred per cent, super-duper okay with it. And now, I think we could both use a couple of more hours of sleep.”

Ron nods. “Yeah, sleep sounds brilliant.” He hoists his legs out of the bed, waves one last time and then leaves the inside of my privacy charms. I flop down on my pillow and then drift off into a peaceful sleep.

*

The next morning, I feel surprisingly okay, considering I only slept for half the night. But a cold shower, a strong morning tea and Hermione starting the set-up for my new DA meetings all force my mind to be sharp and alert. At the high table, Snape’s place is still empty, but the headmaster winks at me so I just assume that he is fine. But also promise me if I don’t see him at mealtime tonight, I am going down to his personal quarters to check on him. We need to set up our training sessions after all. No other reason.

Across the table, Hermione is drafting a list of all the people who attended DA meetings last year and another on with potential new candidates. Her face almost touches the parchment as she compiles the directory of our _New Dumbledore’s Army_. Ron chews on his last sausage as he watches his girlfriend, a soft smile around his eyes.

“That’s quite a list,” he says as he looks over her shoulder to take a look.

Hermione sighs. “Well, I don’t want to exclude anyone but also need to take into account that some of them could be involved with you-know-who.”

“Death Eaters.” Ron’s face reflects the disgust he feels with anyone who could choose to be embroiled with Tom Riddle.

Hermione hums. “Yes, but also pupils whose parents might be silent sympathizers with his cause.” She looks to me and hesitates. “Harry, have you thought about your curriculum yet? I intend to get everyone together this week and set up the first meeting for this Sunday. If you need any help, let me know. As soon as I am done with this, I am free to help you set up a syllabus.”

I smile. “Thanks, Hermione but I think I just improvise. It also depends on how many newcomers are there; I might have to redo important lessons like the Patronus charm.”

“Indeed,” Ron replies as he starts on his second helping of pudding. “How about we split the group? Hermione and I could get the new ones caught up while you proceed with the old guard. This way we lose less time and eventually most people will be able to reintegrate into one group.”

Hermione nods as she chews on the handle of her quill. “We also need to consider that we might have more students from earlier years. Perhaps, we need to split the newcomers even further- Ron works with the younger students and I get the older ones caught up.”

Ron nods. “Sounds like a plan. Have you heard from Snape yet?” he asks, turning to me. “I wonder where he is. As far I know he rarely misses a meal.”

I shrug. “Perhaps, he’s busy with something else. If I don’t see him tonight, I go and check upon him.”

Ron opens his mouth as if to answer but snaps it shut again and then a shadow falls over me from behind. My heart hammers in my chest as I slowly turn around but it’s only McGonagall.

“Mr Potter, the headmaster wants to see you tonight after mealtime. The password is butterbeer.” Her face is twisted in an expression of annoyance but I have no idea if that has anything to do with the headmaster’s unfortunate propensity to name the password some kind of sweet or beverage. I nod dutifully.

“I’ll be there Professor,” I answer and then touch her arm before she can turn away. “Professor McGonagall, have you seen Professor Snape yet?”

She nods her head, her hazel eyes all in a sudden warmer. “Indeed, Mr Potter, I saw Professor Snape last night at our begin-of-term staff meeting. Why are you asking?”

I force my face into an innocent expression as I try to hide how relieved I am to hear her affirmation. “The Professor offered some additional…” I hesitate, but then continue. Snape never mentioned what I was supposed to call these lessons. “eh, classes I guess and I need to set up a schedule.”

McGonagall nods again, her eyes guarded now as her gaze travels over the Gryffindor table to check if we have an audience. However, most of my fellow housemates are still either half asleep over their teas or busy catching up with their friends after the hols. Our only audience is Hermione and Ron who can barely hide their interest.

“Well, I am sure Professor Snape will let you know well in advance about the dates,” she replies, her voice even. “If I am not mistaken you will see him tomorrow in class at the latest. If you’ll excuse me now, I have a class to prepare.”

Again, I nod dutifully and watch her leave the hall through the gates. As I turn back to the head table, Dumbledore watches me like a hawk, his blue eyes hiding his true sentiments behind a veneer of twinkling amusement. I am beginning to understand Snape’s annoyance but simply cast him a smile back.

Ron rolls his eyes. “Very smooth,” he whispers barely keeping a serious face.

I huff. “I know, mate, I really do.”

As Ron snorts into his tea, Hermione sighs and I decide to need another cup of strong tea. The day barely started, and I am already tired of it.

*

The hallways are still filled with students, coming and going from their dorms and the library, some heading outside, even if I find it hard to come up with an adequate reason to brave the heavy snowfall on the grounds. Of course, I didn’t see Snape at lunch or dinner, and I intend to check on him after my meeting with Dumbledore.

The gargoyle ignores me until I say the password quietly and then reveals the staircase leading up to the headmaster’s office. Up here on this corridor, it is quiet, no stray students anywhere to be seen. On top of the stairs, the door springs open, and I step inside.

Dumbledore’s office looks exactly as I remember it- a colossal mahogany desk with books and parchments, golden globe spinning through the air, the ticking and clicking of the headmaster’s many magical apparatuses and the candles casting a warm light over the cramped office. The man himself sits behind his desk, head slightly bend and appears to be immersed in a book. When he hears me enter, he looks up and pushes his half-moon spectacles up his nose again.

“Ah Harry, you are remarkably on time,” he says, flicking his hand to close the book. I catch a part of the title- _Legal Cases from Merlin’s Time to the Modern-_ the rest is blocked by Dumbledore’s fingers as he pushes the huge tome into a drawer to the side.

I want to remark that he never specified a precise time for our meeting and I, therefore, can neither be late nor early, but that seems to echo Snape too much in my mind, so I simply nod. A cup of tea floats over and I take it as I sit down in my usual chair. The clock behind the headmaster ticks the seconds away as I sip my tea, loaded with sugar and milk and highly likely a calming brew, while the former headmasters snore in their paintings.

Dumbledore seems to be intent to start the meeting right away instead of letting me stew in my silence for a while. He clears his throat and then smiles broadly.

“How was the rest of your holidays?”

I shrug. “Fine, but I am glad to be back.” I take another sip from the hot tea, feeling my impatience calm considerably. Definitely a calming draught. “I am eager to start my lessons, all of them.”

Dumbledore chuckles. “I am glad to hear that. How far along is Ms Granger with setting up _New Dumbledore’s Army_?”

I never ask him how he knows the name of our little meeting club we have only come up with this morning, in fact, I barely give it a second thought. Dumbledore is all-knowing, always has been, it’s one of his superpowers.

“We are almost done with the list and Hermione is going to set up the first meeting for next Sunday.”

“Brilliant,” Dumbledore says as he places the cup on his saucer. “Well, that sounds as if you three have things under control as I knew you would.” He pulls a glowing piece of parchment out of his desk and hands it over to me. It feels slightly warm as it was alive. “Here, perhaps suggest to Ms Granger letting everyone who wants to join sign their name here and it will be impossible to reveal the nature of those classes. “

I eye the parchment with some interest but apart from the occasional glow and the warmth, it looks remarkably ordinary. I put it into my bad and when I look up, I can see that Dumbledore still smiles at me. The man looks better, rosy cheeks, a new spring to his step even if I haven’t seen him walking yet. You’d never guess that he is dying from a curse currently contained in his withered hand.

“How are you feeling, Sir?”

Dumbledore chuckles. “Oh, I am fine, do not worry, my boy. In fact, recent events have persuaded me of the importance of my continued efforts in this war, so I am more inclined than ever to do my part in our merry band.”

Years of dealing with the headmaster made me an expert in with his convoluted way of hiding what he’s truly saying behind complicated sentence structures and big words, but what I gain from his remark is that something happened, fairly recently, that changed the way the war will play out. I also know the foolishness in trying to press Dumbledore for further information- he’ll say what he’ll want to say exactly when he deems it necessary. My headache, having started this morning, grows a little worse.

Perhaps I can ask Snape later? After all, he kind of promised to keep me informed. Plus, he is as annoyed by Dumbledore’s theatrics as I am, so we can relate to each other in that way. And isn’t it neat how without any prompting I now have the additional training sessions I’d been dying to ask Snape for anyway? Stars aligning and all that shit.

Returning my attention back to Dumbledore, I smile and do not even have to put on the relief in my expression. I want Dumbledore to do well, for a myriad of reasons.

“I am so glad to hear that, Sir.” I finish my tea, place the cup on the saucer still flying next to my shoulder and then brace my shoulders. “So, what are we up to today?” I can’t see the pensieve anywhere, so perhaps no memory diving today?

“Ah yes, I am afraid, my boy, something has come up,” Dumbledore says and rises from his chair. “Something unexpected although fortunate for our cause if I may say so. I can’t go into any details now, sadly, but rest assured you’ll be the first one to know any specifics once I have ascertained it won’t do more harm than good.” He floats over a cosy looking coat with fur trimmings, a pair of warm leather gloves, and a small wooden box. He shrinks the box to a size of a dice and puts it into his coat pocket.

“You’re leaving?”

Dumbledore nods as he pulls on the gloves. “Yes, for a couple of hours. I’ll be back before the morning though.” When he’s done donning all his winter garments, he turns back to me and now there is positively a whimsical smile on his face. “Severus has agreed to start your lessons early, so feel free to use my fireplace getting to his private quarters.” He points his wand at the fireplace, his wand emitting a blue beam of light. “Just step in, say the destination and no need for any floo powder.” He winks at me. “Chose wisely, this spell will allow you to access any floo however warded it may be.”

“But Professor Snape is expecting me?” I ask, not desiring to cross the sour Slytherin now that we are on good terms.

“Oh yes, yes,” Dumbledore says, chuckling warmly. “Naturally. Now, where was my hat? Ah yes, here, of course.” He puts on a fur-lined leather hat and now more than ever looks a young lad on his first date. “Do not worry about curfew or any of those petty rules tonight,” he says impishly. “Just enjoy yourself for a change.”

I arch my brows so high that they almost disappear under my fringe. “Didn’t you advise me of the contrary only days ago, Sir?”

Dumbledore huffs. “Now you sound like Severus, Harry. Not a good look on anyone, actually.” When he sees my stunned expressions, he waves it away. “Fine, stick to the rules my boy if it makes you happy, but-“ He walks over and places his hand on my shoulder. “-life is short, too short if you ask me and we should always, under any circumstance, make the most of it.”

He hums shortly and then makes a complicated gesture with his wand over his head, almost like the infinity sign and I can feel a disturbance in the magic surrounding the castle. The bottom sways and I need to steady myself against the wall. Dumbledore chuckles. “Sorry, my bad. I always forget that lifting the wards even if for a tiny moment, enough for one apparition startles other people.” He smirks and I wonder if I crossed over into some weird parallel universe where all the adults act like randy teenagers. Dumbledore winks. “Just some of them, Harry,” he says with a throaty chuckle and then disappears from the spot with a loud snap.

For a whole while, I stare at the empty spot until I decide it’s safe to check on Snape now. I have a feeling down there in his quarters, matters will revert to the natural order of things. If I can’t rely on Snape’s sneer, there is really no hope left in this world. I pick up my satchel and walk over to the fireplace that is filled with a blue glow. Carefully, I reach out with my hand expecting warmth, but the sensation is one of coolness to the touch. I step in, close my eyes and without a thought of consideration to go anywhere else, I whisper, “Severus Snape’s private quarters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I start my classes the first week of November. Now, I have no idea how much that will impact my writing output but hopefully, I can keep up the weekly updates. If not, I will share whatever I get done. Stay safe, my lovelies. 💜


	18. Ominous, Handsome Strangers

> _The castle is built into the mountain, with high towers buried under several inches of snow. It looked forbidding how it towered over the rocky stones, like a guarding sentinel protecting what was his. It never deterred him, not when he knew what was waiting for him inside. His cloak was heavy on his shoulders as he stepped onto the stairs leading up to the entrance gates, made from white stone, just like the rest of the buildings. The wards reacted to him, just like the had all those years ago, both as their master and ultimate adversary. It was fitting, in a way, but tonight there was something else, an undercurrent in the statical core that welcomed him back for the first time. He smiled as he pushed open the door. Fitting indeed._

***

Snape’s living room looks warm and inviting, in stark contrast to the man sitting on the sofa, his arms crossed as he sneers at me.

“Evening Potter,” he says, his voice missing his usual disdain. In fact, it almost sounds endearing, but this is still Snape we are talking about so probably not.

I wave and step out of the fireplace, at least this time without stumbling over my own two feet. Honestly, I have no idea where this clumsiness regarding fireplaces comes from, I am not at all a clumsy person. I am quite adept managing all kinds of daring manoeuvres on my broom, never faltering, never wavering but whenever I step out of a floo, I look like a tattering fool.

“Evening Sir,” I answer as I cross the room. “Professor Dumbledore used a spell to circumvent your wards,” I add apologetically, eyeing the place on the sofa I labelled as ‘mine’.

Snape huffs. “His favourite means of bypassing any effort to keep my privacy intact.”

I wince. “I am so sorry; this is the last thing I want to do. But he said you were expecting me….” I trail off, unsure on how to continue.

“I was.” Snape rolls his eyes. “Oh, for Circe’s sake, do sit down Potter and stop this fumbling. You didn’t hurt my feelings or any such foolish sentiments.” He rolls his eyes and takes a sip from his tea. “Just be aware if we ever leave this establishment and Albus considers you his ‘ _friend’_ ,” his voice trips with disdain as he utters the word, “you can say goodbye to any desire for reclusiveness.”

I grin as I pour myself a cup of tea and finally lean back into the sofa happily sitting in my space. “I am not a reclusive person, Sir.”

Snape scoffs. “You will be, then.” He eyes my sweater and the jeans I am wearing. “Just for future reference, most of these sessions will be practical in nature, so you might want to dress in something elastic.”

“Like my quidditch uniform?” My eyes sparkle with mischief.

“I’d rather you wouldn’t,” Snape replies but his expression loses some of his bitterness. I have no idea what happened to let him return to his usual sour disposition, but I just hope it’s temporary. And doesn’t have anything to do with me.

“Noted.” I eye the platter with sandwiches on the tables. Snape snorts.

“You had dinner less than an hour ago,” he chides but pushes the plate closer to me. “Adolescents,” he mutters as I happily munch on my ham sandwich. I couldn’t even say why I am hungry again. I had almost as much as Ron tonight and swear I was feeling full up to walking into Snape’s living room. Now, I am starving, stuffing one sandwich after the other into my mouth.

“I hope this isn’t your dinner?” I ask more in jest but Snape shrugs.

“I wasn’t hungry,” he replies and furrows his brows as I push the plate back in front of him.

“Let’s share,” I say with a big smile and I might have used my puppy gaze. Snape looks as if he wants to tell me to shove it but then sighs and takes a sandwich.

“At least you are not ordering me around,” he mumbles into the cheese sandwich and yes, at that moment Severus Snape has reached the state of adorable. Grouchy but adorable. “So, I trust it the headmaster left already?”

I nod. “Yes, like a lad on his way to his date.”

Snape snorts into his cheese. “So, you noticed?”

“Was fairly obvious. Any idea where he is going?” I watch Snape like a hawk and can see the beginning of a scowl. “Unless you are not supposed to tell, that’s fine.”

“I am more often than not privy to share my knowledge, Potter.”

“I know, Sir.”

Snape huffs again. “Drop the Sir and all that, we are not in class in here. I promise I won’t treat you like a student.” When my eyes light up, Snape snorts. “As your teacher, I could never cast curses on you or bring you to your mental and physical breaking point, so in this room, we will be Snape and Potter.”

My shoulders relax slightly. “Alright.”

Snape leans back into the cushions and closes his eyes. His brows are set in concentration, but his lips are curled into a van smile, as if slightly amused.

“What do you know about the elemental properties of the spells you’ve been learning?”

“Huh?”

“Very astute,” Snape sneers. “Think about the question, I am not going to spoon-feed you everything in these classes.”

I shrug, even so, Snape still has his eyes closed and can’t see me. “Not much I reckon. I know that many of the spells we learn seem to be elemental in nature but apart from that, nothing comes to mind.”

Snape’s eyes snap open and he turns his head to look at me, a shrewd expression on his face. “Not much, heh? That is the core of what we are doing here, Potter, our starting point. It is the first principle of advanced spellweaving beyond ordinary NEWT Level. Every single bit of magic you and me and everybody else wields is elemental in nature. Our propensity for magic allows us to bend the elements, nature itself to our wills. The only limitation, the strength of our cores.”

“Even dark magic?”

Snape nods as his eyes light up. “Yes, dark magic in particular. It bends the elemental planes in such twisted ways that offend even nature itself.” Snape hoists his legs on the table and gets a bit more comfortable. “Why do you think some magic is unforgivable?”

“Because it’s evil, repugnant,” I promptly reply.

“Naturally,” Snape agrees. “But wouldn’t you agree such measures are highly subjective? Perhaps, there is something more to them, to those three spells, that makes them offensive to more than just sentimental taste?”

I frown. “You mean something on the elemental level?” When Snape just watches me but doesn’t say anything, I chew on my lower lip. “Perhaps, nature desires things to stay in a certain way. Hermione mentioned something like this over Christmas. She read it in a muggle science book, homeo- something.”

“Homeostasis.” Snape nods, looking almost pleased now. “Ms Granger would be correct in this assumption. There is indeed a preferred state on the elemental plane of existence that one must bend, to shape or produce strong elemental magic. Stronger than what you learn here in school, more dangerous as well.”

“I think I saw the headmaster wield magic like this,” I say suddenly thrilled myself. This sounds more and more exhilarating by the minute. “Last summer when he was fighting Voldemort in the ministry. Both used large fire spells and formed them into dragons. It was spectacular.”

Snape snorts. “Yes, indeed. One of the reasons why many wizards even attempt to learn these flashy spells. However, the headmaster and his opponent both are one of a handful of wizards and witches to truly understand the intricacies of elemental magic on a level deep enough to use them in combat.”

“And you are teaching me that?” I sound possibly giddy.

“We will see how much your core can do Potter, but this won’t be something you can learn in a week. You need to apply yourself, for however long it takes and there are no shortcuts. In fact, trying to master elemental magic before you are ready, is a failproof way to get hurt.”

“I can be patient, Snape,” I say calmly. “I am not nearly as rash and impulsive as-“ I want to say ‘my father’ but hesitate. I have no desire to kill the mood by mentioning my dad in front of Snape.

“James?” Snape shrugs. “So far, all I’ve seen of you is following in his every footstep. There is a reason you were sorted into Gryffindor after all.”

I pout. “I was almost sorted into your house so count your blessings.”

“You were?” Snape looks… intrigued almost. “According to whom?”

“The sorting hat,” I reply as I start to munch on another sandwich. God, I am hungry today. “It told me I could do great things in Slytherin, but I asked it to send me anywhere else.”

“Why?” Snape makes a face. “Let me guess- because all bad wizards hail from Slytherin?”

I shake my head. “Not really. I grew up muggle, remember? Never heard of Slytherin before I came here. The main reason was meeting Malfoy and he was his usual arsehole-yness, so I did not fancy joining his house.”

“Slytherin is _not_ Malfoy’s house,” Snape presses out between pursed lips. “It is the house for the cunning and ambitious, those who need to prove themselves, who go to great length to support the causes they deem worthy.”

I nod, understanding that this is a sensitive subject for Snape. And why not? Slytherin has a reputation. One of the first things Ron told me about was that there wasn’t a wizard who’s gone bad, who didn’t come from Slytherin. Of course, that’s not true. Pettigrew comes to mind. Certainly, eleven-year-old me believed that bullshit because the world is so much easier if you can sort people into two categories, good and bad, worthy and unworthy. Kudos when you can judge them by something obvious, like their hair colour, sexuality, or Hogwarts house. Isn’t the world full of people who suck this kind of shit up until they are old and grey? But here, right in front of me sits proof of their mistake.

“I want to offer my classes to Slytherins as well,” I say, watching Snape’s face. It shows surprise. “I know some of them are in cahoots with Voldemort but certainly not all, right?”

“Correct.” Snape looks thoughtful. “You need help finding them.” It isn’t a question, but I nod anyway. “I might be able to help you but Slytherins are typically quite secretive, keeping their true allegiance close to heart, especially if they are surrounded by prospective Death Eaters.” He rubs over his chin. “I can give you names, suspects, but I can’t do anything more than that. Outside of this room, my allegiance is still unclear and in my own house everyone knows I am a member of the inner circle.”

“That would be helpful,” I agree, liking the idea more and more. I pull out the glowing parchment from my satchel and hand it to Snape. “Will this be enough to make sure they can’t talk about the classes once they signed. In case, we accept a spy into our ranks without noticing?”

Snape huffs. “That sounds like you.” He flips out his wand and trails it over the parchment. “It is adequate as it locks your mouth whenever you want to talk about anything regarding the nature of these meetings with people not on the list. Where did you get it from?”

“The headmaster.”

“Ah, yes of course. Well, in that case, I am sure it will keep blabbermouths from revealing anything.”

We are quiet for a moment, the only sounds coming from me munching my fourth sandwich and the crackling of the fire. Eventually, I softly place my hand on Snape’s arm, careful not to touch his skin, to not insinuate anything indecent. I begin to understand that much of his resistance comes from the fact that people would be so willing to always assume the worst of him. If he would touch me, as one of his students, they’d take that as additional proof for the wretchedness of Slytherin house and Severus Snape in particular.

“It goes without saying that Slytherin is quite lucky to have you, Snape,” I quietly say, keeping my eyes on the flames that look like they are trying to greedily swallow the inside of the fireplace. “You truly are one of the bravest men I know.”

Snape has stopped breathing while I was talking and then slowly lets out a rush of air. “Gryffindor sentimentalities,” he mutters but doesn’t pull his arm away from under my tingling hand.

“Perhaps.” I chuckle. “We Gryffindors love our sappy moments.” I clutch the arm under me, feel the wiry muscles and the strength in those limbs. “Thanks, for everything.”

Snape grunts and I am not looking, but I bet he has those tiny pink spots on his cheek. “I am just contributing to the war effort,” he says, and I remember he said something similar to Dumbledore on Christmas Day.

“It is appreciated.” I reluctantly pull my hand away, already missing the touch. How quickly one becomes dependent on these smallest of tokens. “So, are we trying some elemental magic tonight?” I waggle my brow and am delighted when Snape rolls his eyes. I picked up a thing or two from Ron and his the twins about breaking up anxious moments with humour.

“We are doing something even better,” he promises but there is this impish glint in his eyes again. He pulls a book from a shelf and drops it into my lap. It’s heavier than anything I have ever had the misfortune to read. The cover is faded, and I see some dark stains on the spine. Hopefully, that isn’t blood. Snape pours himself another cup of tea and then looks back at me as if he expects me to already have started on a task. “Read Chapter one and then we discuss it.”

“Now?” I stare at him in horror. This text is surely complicated, and I was hoping for some help from Hermione, to be honest.

Snape pulls a face. “Of course, now. Otherwise, you have Ms Granger read the book and give you a summary.”

“I’d never do that,” I exclaim even if the plan sounds brilliant. I would just have pestered her with every second sentence until she would have _taken_ the book from me to give me a summary. I am not telling Snape that because the bastard looks smug as hell. The first rule of Gryffindor: never admit to anything unless you absolutely must. “Fine,” I press out and sigh. “I’ll try my best.” I look around and see the empty platter. “Do you think I could have some more sandwiches? I am oddly peckish again.”

*

It takes me two hours to work through the text and Snape loves every second of it. He sits behind his desk, grading another batch of papers and sips from his tea on occasion. A wireless in the corner is filling the room with classical music and I am beginning to understand this is Snape’s routine. He comes here in the evening, prepares a pot of tea, switches on the radio and starts grading.

The text is not bad per se, it’s rather dry and filled with big words I can only guess the meaning of at times. I get the gist of it. The first chapter describes how the elemental plane and magical cores are connected somewhere at the solar plexus region. Apparently, some level of connection is present there from the day witches or wizards are born, magic manifesting when the outskirts of the elemental planes are twisted with unintentional magic. Normal spells and charms are easy enough to master, granted one is instructed properly, but this kind of spellweaving only scratches the surface of what can be accomplished with a deeper link between core and elemental plane.

I close the book and lean back into the soft cushions of the sofa. “I am done,” I state without looking up. I fully expect Snape to shower me with any number of unpleasant tasks, like writing an assignment or reciting four properties of the elemental plane. Instead, silence. When I look up, my gaze is caught by Snape, sitting behind his desk, his black hair slightly ruffled, possibly from dragging his fingers through it too much out of frustration. I do that, all the time, like when I am forced to read a terribly difficult and stuffy text about core theory. So, during the last two hours. Therefore, my hair probably looks worse, standing up in all directions.

His long fingers lightly grip the quill and swing it over the parchment in an elegant swirl, covering the poor sod’s assignment in red. Legs are stretched out under the table, crossed at his ankle and his left hand drums a steady rhythm on the wooden tabletop. Here sits the perfect blend of apprehension and composure and I get up with a smirk on my face. I can feel the privacy charms as I approach- just like the wards around the burrow friendly and comforting. Like home. Like I am wanted, protected. After all, I have declared Snape the guardian of my safe space, all of them.

He looks up when I breach the wards and his eyebrows are lifted in scepticism. “What’s wrong, Potter?” His voice sounds gruff, throaty from unuse and I casually lean against the desk next to him as I peruse the already graded assignment.

“Poor sod,” I say as I take in all the scarlet covering half the paper.

“That poor sod’s name is Emily Whitcomb, and she is one of my own,” Snape replies as he takes in my posture. “Got an Acceptable.”

I pretend to read the flowing handwriting as I chuckle softly. “A Slytherin? And she only got an A?”

“Are you accusing me of favouritism, Mr Potter?” Snape leans back in his seat and stretches his arms over his head.

I place the parchment down, let my gaze travel down Snape’s body, from his ruffled hair over his broad chest to his deliciously slim hips. “Why yes, of course,” I reply with another smirk. “Wonder what she did to deserve that?”

Snape has taken down his arms again and shrugs. “Nothing, it’s just an honest grade.” When he sees the incredulous expression on my face, he sighs. “Perhaps I am turning over a new leaf.”

“Because?”

Snape’s lips turn slightly up at the edges, his familiar expression of amusement that transforms his face so spectacularly. “I don’t know Potter, how about the days of my spying might perhaps one day come to an end?”

I inch a little closer, careful not to disturb any of the parchments that litter the desk or the wrappers of several chocolate frogs. I get the impression that here inside his private quarters Snape is surprisingly unlike the imposing self that he presents to the rest of the world. Casual, a bit messy and not at all a stickler to the rules as I imagined.

“I sincerely hope so,” I reply as I drag little circles on the wooden top of the desk. “Rather sooner than later if you’ll ask me.”

Snape shrugs. “There’s no way to be sure,” he admits, his eyes following the delicate movement of my hand. “I would assume it depends on how the war starts. Albus made it clear, he’d prefer to have a spy on the other side if possible.”

I nod slowly. I know the headmaster’s preferences, but I intend to intervene if he thinks that he can simply force Snape to stay in this thankless position for the rest of the war. Before I can profess my intend, Snape pulls back his legs and sits up.

“So, are you done with your text Mr Potter?”

I grin lopsidedly, brushing my messy hair out of my face. “Guilty as charged.”

“Did you _understand_ it?”

I shrug honestly. “Most of it but some details about the magical properties of the elemental planes are a bit hazy.”

“I see.” Snape opens his mouth to possibly explain the parts I didn’t understand yet when the door is pushed open and a tall, broad-chested man strolls into the room. I notice instantly there is an aura of threat around him. I can’t say why but I instantly dislike him, fear him and simultaneously want to fight him.

He is dressed very casually and unlike the wizards I have met, in a light grey cashmere pullover and dark blue slacks that hug his tall, muscular body accentuating the threat surrounding him even further. Here, in the middle of Snape's living room roams a predator on the hunt. His dark blue eyes open in surprise when he sees me but then a predatory smile covers his even face, with the chiselled chin and voluptuous lips. I must admit, despite my instant dislike, he is handsome. Beautiful even.

“Ah Sev, I had no idea you had another visitor,” he says, his voice deep and filled with amusement. “Perhaps I should have announced my visit beforehand?”

Snape’s face turns instantly guarded; every expression gone from it as he gets up. “Yes, that would have been preferable indeed.” He crosses the table and faces his visitor, and I can now see that for once Snape needs to look slightly up. How bloody tall was that man? He almost rivals Hagrid in height, and that one is a half-giant. And one of my best friends.

Snape clears his throat. “As I have been suggesting for a while, haven’t I?”

The man’s eyes sparkle with mirth as he raises one elegant brow. “Ah, don’t act as if you are not looking forward to our meetings, Sev?” He turns to me, his eyes taking in my small frame and then lingering on my scar. “And this must be the legendary Harry Potter? I have heard much about you, but no one ever mentioned what a delicious little thing you are.”

I feel exposed under his gaze as if he effortlessly unearths every dirty little thought and peruses them at will. I cross my arms over my chest in a vain attempt to exude strength and avoid his direct gaze. Better safe than sorry. Ha, I already know two Legilimens, sucker.

“I also possess a wand,” I say softly. “One that’s destined to do great things,” I add and now he chuckles.

“My, my, Severus, what a temperamental little sprite you have here,” he says as his eyes trail down my body. “Beautiful but deadly, that’s how I like them after all.”

“Enough Byron,” Snape barks and steps between us, basically shielding me. “Do I have to remind you that Mr Potter is a student here?”

“Why should that bother me? I am not a teacher.” The man- Byron moves over to the sofa and sinks down graciously, keeping his amused eyes on me. “How protective you are, my dear brother, a true testament to the strength of-“

“ **Silence**!” Snape’s roar makes me jump in surprise. His face is as aloof as it was a moment ago but now there is a clear warning in his simmering eyes. “If you utter one more word as I finish Mr Potter’s detention, you will regret it.” The voice, those words sends tingles of fear down my spine. Byron seems unaffected though as he shrugs with a smirk.

“Can I at least have something better than this watery tea? I thought this school was serviced by house-elves?” He eyes the pot with suspicion. “Perhaps a flogging is in order, heh?” There is still that infuriating smirk on his face as his eyes meet mine across the room. I am pretty sure he is jesting but can’t help a soft growl emit from my throat.

“The tea is fine,” I press out and stalk over to pour me another cup. Holding Byron’s glittering eyes, I bring the cup to my lips and down it in one go. “If you touch any of the elves, you’ll regret it,” I say trying to sound intimidating but Byron only guffaws.

“Don’t worry,” he replies as he accepts a glass filled with an amber liquid from Snape. “I have a castle of my own filled with house-elves to flag if I fancy it.” He grins. “Which I rarely do. I am not a monster, after all.”

Before I have a chance to tell him exactly what is on my mind, Snape blocks my view. His lips are pressed tightly together and there is a warning in his black eyes. He hands me the book about elemental magic and places a hand on my shoulder, as he guides me to the door.

“I am afraid our… detention has come to an earlier end than I anticipated,” he says, his voice low and throaty. “In any way, the next one is scheduled for Monday evening, after dinner. Until then I expect you to read the second chapter and try to implement some of the mind exercises over the weekend.” His black eyes meet mine and a shiver runs through my body. They are filled with simmering rage, but not directed at me. I simply nod, not trusting my voice at that moment. If I had it my way, I’d throw myself into Snape’s arms and beg the man to please let me stay, but that sounds absurd even to me. Snape’s hand clutches my shoulder, and I could have sworn for a moment he pulls me closer, only to then let me go as if he were burnt. “Very well then, Mr Potter. I’ll see you next Monday in class.”

And before I can say anything, I am gently pushed out of the door and find myself in the deserted corridor outside Snape’s quarters. The door shuts in my face and I begin the long track to the seventh floor mentally cataloguing ways to find out who that mysterious man is and how I can protect Snape from him.


	19. The Beginning of the War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed we are close to twenty chapters and those two haven't even kissed by now. We are not there yet, but here is something to tide you over. Hope you like, and thank you again for your continued support, you kudos and lovely comments. Keep them coming, please.

I don’t sleep that night. Like not at all. I twist and turn in my bed, staring at the underside of my canopy and eventually drag myself out of bed at about five o’clock. It’s still dark in the dorm, the only light coming from Neville’s nightlight- a small purple ball of light that floats next to his bed. In the silence of the room I can hear the soft snoring of Ron, Seamus is muttering something in his sleep and Dean seems to run in his dreams because his feet are moving under the cover.

I sit down at the edge of my bed, my bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. Leaning forward I rest my head in my hands as I try to concentrate on my breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

I am not jealous. Not at all. My feelings for Snape are strictly professional. I am absolutely not thinking about the curve of his neck or the high cheekbone that are so sharp they might be able to cut through stone.

In. Out. In. Out.

I am not worried about his new friend Byron. Brother, he called him. Perhaps they are literally brothers, Snape is secretive like that. So, it’s cool. They are related and certainly not getting all hot and heavy down there, rolling over Snape’s crème sheets, entangled limbs and moans filling the air.

In. Out. In. Out.

They are brothers, relax. However….they look nothing alike. Snape has black silky hair that begs for me to run my fingers through it and simmering black eyes that are in reality dark brown with little specks of amber in them. Byron’s eyes are ocean blue with an almost hypnotic quality about them. As if prolonged contact might steal your senses and lets you be turned into his plaything. They are nothing like Snape’s; they are warm and whenever they pull me in it’s because I am selecting to fall and not due to some irresistible compulsion. In contrast to Snape’s black tresses that are a bit on the lanky side, Byron’s hair is sandy brown, falling down his neck in elegant strands.

He scared me, and not only because he had this aura around him. I felt weak and vulnerable in his presence, as if he has a kind of power over me, as if all my posturing last night were more a cheap façade than anything else. I wasn’t safe with him; if he’d wanted to, he could have overpowered me easily. A shiver runs through my body as I remember the way he looked at me as if he were appraising me. I have no idea what for. But I don’t like it, not one bit.

Perhaps, my anger I feel bubbling inside, the hostility I feel is a testament to Snape’s way of dealing with my breakdowns these last weeks. In fact, I should feel weak, raise my hands, and give up in the face of this powerful stranger. Instead, I feel my defiance begin to stir. I am not a bloody victim, I survived too many things for now to just surrender. I am a fighter, Snape says so. As long as he is around, I can face anything and anybody.

I straighten my shoulders and stare through the window into the darkness. This is a mystery; one I am going to solve. Nothing I haven’t done before. I take in a huge gulp of air, hold it, and then release it through my nose. I can do this. I am safe here. I am with Snape. A smile begins to spread on my face. I _am_ with Snape.

He called him Sev, though. My smile fades and then a scowl replaces it. I could call him Sev too. If I had a death wish. Which I don’t so I stick to Snape. Names don’t mean anything. So- we are Snape and Potter? That doesn’t mean we are not close. Last night at Snape’s desk, we had a moment. We had them before. We talk, we jest, we touch. With anyone else, Remus perhaps, it would be meaningless pleasantries, pure cordiality, but Snape isn’t wired like this. He is prickly, pushes people away before they can cast a glimpse behind the impenetrable walls he built to protect himself. Some fight him to force their way in when in reality you need to wait for him to let you through.

My reflection in the window looks fuzzy in the snow-stained glass, but I can see how it transforms from defeat to determination. No need to worry about any of this. But that’s my thing, isn’t it? My modus operandi. I start to worry, and one conclusion leads to the next until I feel like I am floating away in a stream of my own making. No more. I am not the lost little boy I was at the beginning of this school year. I grew stronger, bolder, Snape made sure of that.

I rise and look at the bathroom door. I should take a shower and then go to breakfast early. There’s usually something to eat from six so that’s in… woah, ten minutes. Where did the time go? Was I really wrecking my head about this mysterious stranger for close to fifty minutes? I need a strong cup of morning tea and then start my investigation into the newest mystery. With a glint of excitement, I grab my towel and toothbrush and start my morning ablutions.

*

The great hall is deserted as I walk in but as soon as I sit down a pot of steaming tea appears next to a plate filled with bangers and eggs, mushrooms and beans and a basket of toast together with an assortment of jams and syrup. I pour myself a cup and then warm my clammy hands around the hot china. The tea tastes strong with a hint of bergamot and it warms me up. As I sip from the cup I stare at the food. I am not hungry. My stomach feels strangely queasy as if I had eaten something bad.

In the next hour or so I watch the enchanted sky under the ceiling change from nightly black to a deep azure and the sun reveals itself. Outside, it’s still dark but in here the hall slowly fills with students. Neville is the first to appear from my year and he flops down next to me on his usual spot and gratefully accepts a cup of tea.

“You are up early Harry,” he says with a big smile as he starts to assemble his breakfast on his plate. “You are usually not up until-“ Neville looks on his old-fashioned pocket watch, he received as a Christmas present form his nan. “-in about ten minutes or so.”

I nod and shrug. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Neville’s face falls. “I am sorry to hear that. I hope it’s nothing to do with-“ he hesitates and then continues, bracing his shoulders. “V-Voldemort?”

“Nope, just normal stuff Neville,” I reply and then pad him on the arm. “Nice job saying his name. You and Hermione are the only ones who do it regularly.”

Neville blushes and hides behind his teacup. “Thanks, Harry. I always remember what you said last year: Nobody needs to be afraid of a name. I try to not let the idea of him scare me so much.”

“It’s okay if the wizard terrifies you, nobody should take Voldemort and the threat he poses to our world lightly, but a simple name holds no power over any of us,” I say as I sip from what must be the fifth cup today. I feel strangely giddy as if I could run around the lake outside for hours without getting tired. “Dumbledore taught me that in my first year and I reckon it’s time the whole school learns it.”

Neville picks up some scrambled egg with his fork and absentmindedly chews on it. “I agree, Harry, that’s why I joined your DA meetings again.” He smiles lopsidedly. “Actually, I look forward to it quite a bit later.”

Bloody hell. It’s Sunday today, so that will put a damper into my plans to investigate Byron. In about ten hours my first NDA meeting starts, and I haven’t even thought about what I want to begin with. Hopefully, Hermione has already figured out how to separate the groups and fortunately Ron and her will take on the newer, younger students. I can simply pick up our lessons where we stopped last year.

“Morning,” Ron says as he plops down across the table, his face a little puffy from sleep but a broad smile on his face. I see the reason why, when Hermione sits down next to him, takes his hand and casts him a soft smile.

“Good morning Harry,” Hermione says with a soft pink spot staining her cheek. “You look horrible,” she adds after taking in my dishevelled appearance. “Are you nervous about later?”

I nod. This is as good a reason as any to be apprehensive and I don’t want anyone to know about Byron yet. I first need to figure out who he is and what his plans are for Snape before I am ready to share this with my friends.

“Yeah, about that. Did you have a chance to split the groups yet?” I might have used my puppy eyes again.

Hermione rolls her eyes but pulls out a piece of parchment. “Of course, I did. We ended up with about 400 prospective attendants and-“

“What?” I stare at Hermione in horror. “Did you say… 400?”

“Sure did, mate,” Ron agrees cheerily. His blue eyes sparkle. “You’ve got a fan club.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You are the chosen one, after all,” he adds with put-upon reverence.

I swallow hard. “B-but I can’t teach s-so many of them…” I stutter and then take a huge sip from my tea. Bloody hell. That sounds like a crowd as if they could trample me if they wanted.

“Luckily, the majority of them are new ones, so me and Ron need to deal with them,” Hermione says as she gently pads my shaking hand on the table. “I asked Ginny and Luna to stand by as substitute teachers just in case the groups get too big. You should end up with only about thirty or so students from last year.”

Thirty. Well, that sounds manageable. Still could trample me to death if they wanted to, but I might be able to contain them with a shield charm. Hermione pulls out another parchment from her satchel and slides it over the table.

“I made a provisional curriculum for you, with all the spells here in this column that you might want to revise and over here new ones to add over time. But frankly, I don’t think we get much done this evening. You’ll need to explain why we are doing these lessons, find some heartening words and then everybody needs to sign the parchment, which will take a while with that many people. I don’t think we’ll have time for a proper class on top of that, not if we need to adhere to curfew.”

I nod, already wracking my brain for anything that sounds ‘heartening’. All I come up with is stuff that has an ominous ring to it, but I am going to play it by ear. Usually, something comes to mind while I am in the middle of things.

As I put the parchment with the curriculum into my own satchel to peruse later, I can see several Ravenclaw students giggle as they cast furtive glances up at the high table. They are third- or fourth-year students and whisper with each other frantically. As I follow their gaze to the hight table, I first meet Snape’s simmering eyes as he stares at my general location over his teacup. He instantly looks away and I can’t help but frown. I can’t for the life of me read the expression in his eyes. More guarded than usual but also filled with something that puzzles me.

“…is so cute, I wonder who he is,” I hear Ginny whisper to Luna and my eyes snap back to Snape.

Surely, they are not talking about Snape? He is… an acquired taste, for the esteeming eye, not some teenage girls. My gaze moves on and my breath catches when the same blue eyes that transfixed me yesterday find me over the crowd in the hall. Byron sits next to Dumbledore, dressed in an elegant red coat with black lining and his hair is pulled back at the base of his neck. This accentuates his strong jaw and voluptuous lips, that turn into an amused expression. Dumbledore, who is talking with him, winks at me and then chuckles when Byron says something.

My eyes shoot back to Snape, who still sullenly drinks his tea and seems to ignore everyone else as much as possible. I try to catch his eyes again, but he watches the Slytherin table with a frown. My eyes follow his and I see Malfoy, with bags the size of the snitch under his bloodshot eyes. He glumly drinks his tea, ignoring Pansy, as she tries to coax him into eating something. 

“Do you know who that new fella is?” Ron asks, leaning over.

“Why should I?” I ignore the commotion in the hall and take a bite from my eggs. They are still warm- likely a warming charm- and suddenly I am hungry. No, not simply hungry, but ravenous. I gulp down more food as I meet Ron’s eyes. He looks amused.

“Because he came in with Snape,” he says slowly as if I am an idiot. “I thought perhaps you saw him last night.”

I put a sausage in my mouth and begin to chew. “Nope, never seen him. Total stranger.”

Ron shrugs. “Pity, because half the school seems to fancy him already.” As I look around, I can see not only many of the girls but to my dismay quite a few of the boys as well as they either stare at him dreamily or whisper with each other. It’s a travesty, he’s an adult after all. No, it’s not the same as me and Snape, remember? We are professionals, never such a mushy mess.

“He is quite handsome,” Neville says with a soft smile. “And those eyes, they are like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Hermione is frowning but there is a slight flush on her cheeks. “Perhaps, we shouldn’t look at him like that. Although, he is quite pleasant to look at.”

Ron snorts. “I reckon the fella’s enjoying it by the looks of it.”

And indeed, Byron sips from a silver goblet as his gaze travels through the hall, winking when he catches a student’s stare. Neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall seems to feel it necessary to put a stop to this display and Snape’s looks as if he is in pain. His cheeks are pale as a ghost, as he glumly stares into his teacup

“Excuse me,” I mutter as I get up and walk down the aisle between the two tables until I am standing directly in front of Snape. Luckily, most students are still distracted by Byron, so they pay me no mind. Snape, however, looks miffed now, but I don’t care. I am also steadfastly ignoring Byron, whose gaze I can feel on my skin. “Sir, could I talk with you for a minute?”

Snape narrows his eyes, and I can see he’s close to telling me to sod off when Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Certainly,” he says as his eyes twinkle. “Severus, perhaps you want to have this conversation in the portrait chamber.”

Snape clenches his jaw but nods curtly and as he gets up, I can see he hasn’t touched any of the food on his plate. Before I follow him to the small door behind the high table, I snatch a pie from his plate. Dumbledore chuckles and hands me another one. I hesitate and then take it, ignoring the throaty laughter from Byron, as I follow Snape. The fireplace on the faraway wall springs to life as we enter, and Snape looks ready to rip my head off. Instead, I walk over, press the pie into his hands and glare at him.

“Eat something.” I have no idea why I am doing what I am doing but I simply know this is what I must do. An urgent need, a compulsion, one of my own choosing. Usually, I never go wrong following my instinct, and in this particular case, I feel it is way more than my impeccable instincts telling me what to do.

Snape growls. “Why?” His hands curls around the pie and almost crushes it to a soggy mess.

“Because I worry.” I step a little closer and can feel the warmth radiating from his body. There is only the space of a hand between us now. To my surprise instead of devouring me where I stand, or assign a hundred detentions, or simply argue this point until we both are old and grey, Snape squints his eyes, growls again and then stuffs the whole pie into his mouth.

Holding my eyes, he chews it and then swallows it down, his black eyes looking both miserable and grateful. I hand him the second one and he stares at it for a moment, then rolls his eyes and repeats his earlier action.

“I wasn’t starving,” he mutters, and I must press my lips together tightly to keep a straight face. I have never felt as protective of him as I do right now and then, once again going with what my gut tells me, I gently rest my head against his warm chest. I can feel him flinching but as of yet, I am not assaulted.

“Sorry, no idea why I am doing this,” I mumble into the black cotton of his robe.

“I figured that,” Snape says but makes no move to push me away. He doesn’t do anything really, just stands there and lets it happen. “What a surprise, the great Harry Potter rushes into things without a plan.”

I snort and rub my cheek against his robe. The rough material feels scruffy against my skin. “That’s my MO.”

“Lovely.” Snape sounds a bit annoyed but strangely detached as if someone has given him a large dose of a calming draught.

I know we both passed the state of propriety a while ago but only after about several more minutes of quietness do I pull away, reluctantly. Snape’s cheeks are not as pale anymore, his black eyes still simmer with an unreadable expression and on his chin sticks a crumble of his pie. Before I can stop myself, I reach up and gently pick it up with my index finger. Holding Snape’s eyes, I open my lips and dart out my tongue to lap up the crumble. Snape swallows and closes his eyes.

“You are a pest, Potter,” he says quietly, and I can hear the barely concealed fondness in his voice.

“I know,” I reply, feeling much better now. I still have no idea why I act the way I do, but I feel as if a compulsion is sated. I pull away again and take a step back. “Who’s Byron?” My voice sounds sharper than I intended.

Snape’s eyes snap open and I can see the spell fading from him. His eyes narrow and he purses his lips.

“That is none of your business, Potter,” he snarls, and I can see the anger in his eyes.

I roll my eyes. Whatever. “I don’t trust him,” I state, not budging.

“Really?” Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest, towering over me. “Pray tell, why?”

I sigh. “He’s… unsavoury.”

“And you know that because…?” Snape lifts a brow.

“Clearly, he is up to no good.”

“Clearly.” Snape huffs. “Are we done here?” As he turns away, I grab his robe.

“At least, watch your back.”

Snape sighs. “I always do,” he says and then after a long, pointed glare, he extricates himself and then leaves into the great hall.

“Bloody hell.” I kick the stone wall in frustration and one of the witches in the portraits above me starts a tirade about manners. I scowl at her. “Oh, do shut up, you are lucky I didn’t jump him where he stood.” As she gapes at me, I flip her off. Bloody day.

*

Hermione set up the room of requirements so I have really no idea what she wished for but what was created is a huge hall almost the size of the great hall, with several separate spaces to teach the different groups. Protection wards surround the different areas, to protect students from ricocheting hexes and curses. The ground is covered with a soft carpet and on the faraway wall, several floating training dummies line the edge of the room. As I walk in, my heart stops when I see the room filled up with an enormous number of students, all staring at me curiously as I step next to Hermione and Ron. My knees shake a bit as I attempt to copy Snape’s unreadable expression.

“Hey Harry,” Luna says from next to Hermione, her eyes friendly and I latch on to that.

“Hey Luna, how are you? Feeling up to some defence training? I do, even if I slept bad but you know….” I trail off when I see Ron’s amused expression, but Luna saves me with a serious nod.

“I do,” she agrees and then pulls out a box filled with something that looks like tree bark. She holds it under my nose, and I can smell the distinctive smell of wood. “Oak bark, one of the oldest remedies for exhaustion,” she adds. “Take some.”

I swallow and want to refuse when I see Ginny take a small amount and put it into her mouth. She closes her eyes and then smiles.

“That’s tastes a bit like the anti-cough bonbon you offered me over Christmas.”

Luna smiles softly. “Yes, they contained bark as well.”

Ginny leans over, her brown eyes narrowed. “Take some, please. Luna means well and I don’t want to give others ammunition to make fun of her.” She sighs. “More than they already do.”

I nod and take a small amount. It tastes like wood, but I manage to make an appreciative face. “Thanks, Luna,” I say and am graced with one of Luna’s wide smiles.

“Sure Harry, nobody wants you to accidentally set the castle on fire.”

I frown. “I really don’t think that’s very like- ouch.” Ginny’s elbow hits me right in the ribs. “I mean, very thoughtful.” I cast Ginny a glance that hopefully expresses the conflicting emotions I feel. I am pleased of her protective streak about a girl I care for loads, but I don’t appreciate being manhandled because of it. Ginny rolls her eyes and looping her arms around Luna’s shoulder joins the other girls from her year.

“You okay, mate?” Ron looks concerned and I shrug.

“Not going die from a bruised rib,” I mutter, and Ron rolls his eyes.

“I know, I meant you have been pretty quiet since talking with Snape this morning.” He clutches my arm. “I am here if you want to talk.”

More than anything I want this conversation to end. Not because I feel uncomfortable talking about emotions with my best mate. For two guys we do that a lot, at least loads more than most other guys but people are starting to stare. So, I nod and then step to Hermione who is casting several more containment charms over an area to the left.

“Need help?”

Hermione finishes her cast and then looks up. “Not really,” she says and then steps back to take in the tight shield charms around the area. “This is going to be the training space for your group. Since you will cast way more advanced hexes and curses, I thought it prudent to lay some additional containment spells.”

I smile gratefully. “Very prudent, indeed.”

“Are you ready to get started?” Hermione’s warm eyes take in my possibly pathetic figure, but her expression doesn’t give anything away. I know if I copped out, she would take over the meeting without losing a beat, but I am done being shielded all the time. I wanted this, I remind myself. And I feel strong enough to clear my throat and turn to the pack of students. Everyone quiets down in record speed and I clasp my arms behind my back to hide that they are shaking. The crowd in front of me is fuzzy, I can’t for the life of me make out any of the students, they all blur into each other. For all I know, Voldemort could be among them and he would just be a hazy blob.

“Ehm, hello everyone, welcome to the New Dumbledore’s Army,” I start, and it is so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. I force a hopefully confidence-boosting smile on my face. “I am really pleased so many of you want to learn how to protect yourself because, to be frank, I reckon such skills will very soon be needed.” I can see several of them share glances with each other. “I am aware some of you joined me last year to learn how to defend yourself against the dark arts when our teacher was, well a bit rotten.”

I hear laughter and I relax a bit. I got this. I’ve been here before. “This year the one teaching us is… different. We are lucky to have Professor Snape as our teacher, but he is bound by a curriculum. I am not. We can learn here together to expand our toolkit to be prepared when we need it. I am willing to pass on what I know but this is no regular class. If you know a spell, a charm or a hex that could be useful, by all means, share it with us. We are here to grow together, to mould ourselves into a formidable army for when Hogwarts needs us, when our world demands our strength, we are there to rise to the occasion.”

Cheering starts and someone whoops. I raise my hands and the room falls silent immediately. The feeling of having such control over a huge crowd of people, to have them hang on my lips and cheering on my every word, is intoxicating. But that’s not was this is about, I remind myself. I am here to contribute to the war effort, not to feed into the stupid chosen one hysteria. Nevertheless, if I need to play the saviour for them to learn how to defend themselves against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, I am willing to do that.

“Last year we had to hold our meetings in secret, hide from the tyrant who had stolen our school from us. Not this time. Professor Dumbledore assured me that these classes have the full support of the faculty. That will give us the freedom to be less subtle about what we do here.” I try to catch some of their eyes as I brace myself for the next part. “I am pleased that so many of you have come here, from all of Hogwarts Houses but I can’t help but notice that only a handful of Slytherins has joined us.” I see them huddle in a corner, big eyes casting furtive glances around the room. When they hear their house’s name, they flinch. “I want to explicitly welcome you. It is my deepest conviction that there are no bad houses in this school. Not everybody from Slytherin is a supporter of Voldemort.” Now I can see more people flinch. I press on. “In fact, I know that some of you are in a horrible situation. I know all about house loyalty, how hard it is to stand against your housemates. Nevertheless, I am delighted you are here, and I want to make it absolutely clear that I won’t tolerate any disruption. We are all in this together. Will learn and grow together. Let’s get started.”

The room erupts in cheering and applause and I try to take all the staring in stride. Guess better to get used it sooner rather than later. Over the deafening roars of the students, I can hear an amplified voice.

“Splendid, Harry,” Dumbledore says as he crosses the room. He must have been here the entire time, probably hiding somewhere in the blurry crowd. The four heads of houses stand behind him, and my eyes rest on Snape perhaps a tad longer than strictly necessary.

“Potter.” Snape’s face is unreadable as he steps next to me. I nod, my cheeks turning the slightest bit pink. Bloody hell, I had no idea that all of them would be here. Behind Dumbledore, a tall figure steps out from behind the professors and I recognized Byron with his hypnotizing icy blue eyes. He appears amused taking in the uneasiness between me and Snape.

“Hello Harry,” he says, and I can see how much he enjoys my discomfort. I straighten my shoulders and face him.

“Hello Byron.” My voice sounds surprisingly calm and collected and Byron bows his head which looks halfway serious and a bit mocking. Perhaps it’s just my overactive imagination, but I swear I can hear Snape growl, but when I look up, he looks exactly as he always did.

Dumbledore turns to the crowd and smiles.

“Do not be alarmed, we won’t bother you much in these meetings. After all, this is entirely due to Mr Potter’s and Ms Granger’s efforts. But I thought it reasonable to express my full support and allegiance to what you are doing here, as I don’t want there to be any doubt about what is happening in our world right now.” He walks next to me and places his hand on my shoulders. It feels heavy as if for a moment I am carrying a tiny bit of what this old wizard has been for decades. “I am afraid there is no more time to sugar-coat matters anymore because it’s crystal clear that very soon the war for the soul of our world will start and none of us can refuse to choose sides. It is unfortunate that our current ministry officials are lying, likely in a vain attempt to appease the public. I am here to assure you all that you will need the skills you learn here very soon. The fate of all us may one day depend on each and every one of you.”

The room has fallen silent again and now I see the fearful looks but also budding resolve in many faces. This is truly the beginning of a movement, an army perhaps. Dumbledore smiles.

“And now without further ado, proceed with the full blessing of the school.”

Once again, the room erupts into applause that soon enough even includes the heads of houses, the headmaster. Snape’s black eyes simmer as our eyes meet. The beginning, this is the beginning of the war. And it could be much worse I suddenly realize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week my classes start so we see what that does to the upload cycle. I have already written a couple of additional chapters but it takes forever to edit those.


	20. Ignoring Owls and Poking Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I suspected, I have quite the workload in my masters, so I am afraid this chapter is a tad late. Some more cute scenes between our fav gorgeous wizards and a juicy addition to the overall plot. Hope this chapter finds all of you well in these crazy, sometimes heartbreaking times and provides some much-needed relief. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos, they fill my heart with joy. Knowing that some of you follow this story and care about what happens to my characters, is such a lovely feeling. 💜

True to Hermione’s prediction once everyone signed the parchment (which took forever), there were only about fifteen minutes left till curfew. The heads of houses and Dumbledore retreated to the back of the room, where the headmaster summoned comfortable looking armchairs for them and watched the line of students as they started to sign the hexed parchment. Dumbledore made it clear what signing meant and I am relieved when nobody left at that point. The nine Slytherins who had chosen to join, all come to the table together, cast me a nervous smile and then signed one by one. Most of them were from the years one to four, but there was at least one familiar face in their midst.

Two girls signed as two of the first Slytherins, and one of them I know- Daphne Greengrass is in my year. She is tightly gripping her little sister Astoria’s hand, who strangely enough seems not scared at all. On the contrary. In contrast to her sister, her green eyes are wide open as she takes in the parchment and then signs it without any hesitation. Daphne appears somehow glum, so I decide to walk over and chat with her.

“Hey Daphne,” I say with an open smile on my face. “Glad you could join us.”

Daphne lowers her gaze and grips her sister’s hand even tighter. I am beginning to understand that she draws strength from Astoria in this.

“We weren’t sure we were welcome here,” she whispers and swallows. “As Slytherins.”

“You heard him, Daph,” Astoria piped up. “All are welcome, aren’t they?”

I nod. “Yes, certainly. In fact, I reckon we will need as much Slytherins on our side as possible in the coming weeks. I refuse to believe all of them want to see our world destroyed.”

“B-but aren’t you enemies with D-draco?” Daphne asks and Astoria rolls her eyes.

“Please, Slytherin house is more than Draco Malfoy.” She winks. “It has us,” she adds with a wink, and I chuckle.

“It is really lucky to have you,” I agree and Astoria beams at me. “So many of the Slytherin qualities are admirable and will be a great boon in the weeks to come. I am truly glad you’re here,” I say and then look up to catch each and every Slytherin’s gaze. “Honestly I am, and if there are others, who were too shy or unsure whether they would be welcome here, please tell them that this group is open to anyone who wants to defend our world, no matter who they are.”

Daphne chews on her lower lip but nods and Astoria beams at me again.

“I like you, Harry,” she says earnestly. “You are not at all how the Prophet depicts you.”

Daphne presses her hand to her sister’s mouth and looks possible mortified. “Astoria!”

I snort. “Yeah, they don’t have a particularly good track record for that, just as they don’t have one for being honest about what’s happening in our world.”

Astoria giggles. “They sure don’t.” She looks around the room again and then sighs. “I can’t wait to learn stuff here. Do you think we still have a little time for some lessons?”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione says from behind me. “It’s almost time to wrap up today’s proceedings, but perhaps Harry can show us some of the spells he will teach?”

I should feel awkward being put on the spot like this by my friend but instead, I feel calmer than ever. This evening changed something in me, perhaps the understanding that I can do good in this fight, I can actually make a difference. One that is separate from that prophecy. And it feels bloody brilliant.

“Sure.” I meet Astoria’s excited eyes. “Any requests?”

“The Patronus charm,” Astoria whispers reverently.

“That’s a good one,” I agree and raise my wand. The room is silent again, everybody is staring at me and my eyes search for and find Snape’s. “ _Expecto Patronum_!” I exclaim and from the tip of my want the familiar stag springs to life and dashes through the hall. Astoria whoops and clasps her hands in excitement as the stag circles her and then elegantly rises in the air.

Keeping my wand up I direct it to dance over the heads of everybody else, and then come to a stop in front of the teachers. Dumbledore extends his hand, and the stag nudges him and then rises on his hind legs. The corners of Snape’s mouth twitch as the stag starts to dance around the teachers and then as one last hurrah brushes past Snape to disappear out of the ceiling.

“That was brilliant!” Astoria cries and many of the younger students agree with some more whooping and clapping.

I bow with a smile and then turn to Hermione. “Perhaps you can show yours too?”

Hermione flips out her wand, casts and her little otter darts from her wand and starts to race through the room. Ron’s terrier chases after her and then all of the students from last year cast their Patronuses as well. It’s quite a sight, the many glowing animals dashing through the room, lighting up the ceiling above us until they all slowly fade out.

I turn to the crowd. “I think it’s best to stop here for tonight, but we’ll reconvene next week, same day, same time. Please, if anybody else wants to join, let them know they are welcome, no matter the house. We’ll start our proper lessons then. Good night!”

Slowly the students start to leave, chatting animatedly with each other and I truly hope that the little stunt with the Patronuses will advertise what we do here to more people. I don’t care if some of them only want to learn the flashy Patronus spell if they learn to defend themselves along with it.

The last to leave are Dumbledore and the heads of houses. Flitwick claps my back as he passes me and Dumbledore winks. Snape seems to ignore me but when he passes me, I can feel a soft touch as his shoulder brushes against mine. I almost purr as the last trace of his scent washes over me and then leaves the room with him.

In the end, it’s only Ron, Hermione and I left, and I sink down in a chair.

“Thank Merlin, we are done,” Ron says from where he sits on the table.

Hermione huffs. “Why? You didn’t do anything besides casting your Patronus?”

Ron winks. “Yeah, but it’s a really cute Patronus you have to admit,” he says and quickly presses a kiss on his girlfriend’s cheek. “Just like your otter. They make a good team.”

I snort as Hermione flushes and lean back in my uncomfortable chair. “I feel really good about this,” I say as I stare up at the ceiling. I truly do, it feels like something worthwhile. I am making a difference, finally.

Hermione packs away the parchment with everybody’s signatures. “Me too. You are a brilliant teacher Harry, you truly are.”

I smile. “I enjoy it, passing on what I know.” I chuckle. “Who knows? If I survive this war, I might consider becoming a teacher.”

Ron snorts. “At least if you taught defence, someone competent would teach for a chance.”

“Lupin was competent and so is Snape,” I say frowning. “I reckon the worst part is the constant turnover in teachers. That’s bound to wreck any chance of continuity.”

“Perhaps once you kill Voldemort, the curse on the position will be broken?” Hermione asks.

I nod. Perhaps. I am not telling them I am never teaching defence if Snape wants to keep the position. I know for how long he desperately desired the job and now that he might only be able to keep it for one year (due to the curse and the war), I’d want for him to get it back once this mess is over.

I shortly wonder if I should try to sneak away to Snape’s personal quarters. I’d like to talk with him, ask him how he liked the class, but I am too scared to run into Byron again. So, I wait til tomorrow when I see him first thing in the morning in defence. And then, later in our training sessions. Speaking of that, I still need to read the second chapter of that book he gave me. I was supposed to start implementing some kind of meditation technique, but I am way too tired right now. Tomorrow. I have the afternoon off, so I can get it done then. Tonight, I bask in the knowledge that I am finally contributing to the war in a meaningful way.

*

Snape is mostly ignoring me during our defence class. Or at least, he continues his normal teaching routine without paying me much attention. Which is perhaps a wise choice, as I can see Malfoy staring at his head of house during most of the class. It should fill me with more glee that the blonde Slytherin looks more dishevelled each day, but instead, it reminds me uncomfortably that Snape swore an unbreakable vow to finish the blonde’s mission in case Malfoy fails. Which, by the looks of it, he does. I remember asking Hermione about the vow, but she had never heard of it before and then Christmas happened, the big reveal about Dumbledore, the war and I forgot until now.

Snape stalks down the rows of desks as we copy a table of magical properties from the blackboard and looks so alive. His cheeks are rosy again after that morning in the great hall, his step is elated and brisk as he walks past me without sparing me a glance. I count his steps and when he is next to me, I lean over just the tiniest bit and inhale. The familiar scents of herbs, lemon, sandalwood and old books fill my nose. Ron snickers and covers it by pretending to cough when Snape scowls at him.

“If you feel unwell Mr Weasley, Madame Pomfrey surely has some pepper-up potion at hand, but stop spreading your germs in my class,” he snaps as he moves towards the front of the class.

Ron is wise enough not to rile up Snape when he has that tone of voice. Pretty much everybody learnt that in our first year, except me. I always push the dragon, even when he already snaps and snarls.

“Now that you mention it, Sir,” I say and fake an unconvincing cough. “I am feeling a bit under the weather myself. I couldn’t help but notice you have some pepper-up in your personal store. Could I have one, please?” I try to keep my facial expression as innocent as I stare up at him.

Snape turns slowly around, the scowl now firmly etched into his face and I see the warning in his eyes. I am stupid, I never take this stuff seriously.

“I don’t think we can take the risk Potter,” he says with a sneer, and there is a familiar coldness etched into his voice again. “After all, you are the chosen one, so it would be prudent to visit the infirmary for a check-up, wouldn’t you agree? Unless,” he adds, “your supposed cold is nothing more than your usual theatrics.”

I huff. “I assure you Sir; I am quite unwell.” Where did this anger come from? It seems Snape and I slide back into our old, hate-filled relationship with ease.

Snape narrows his eyes. “Then, do all of us a favour and visit the infirmary right away. I don’t want anyone to spread their germs in my classroom and that applies to you as well.”

“Now?” I swallow. I know Madame Pomfrey, she will want to do a sorrow check-up and that will force me to skip lunch.

Snape steps closer, leans down and I can see the frustration in his eyes. “You heard me, Potter, I will only allow you back into my class once you have a note from Madame Pomfrey declaring it safe. Dismissed.”

I know there and then that I overstepped some kind of line. Snape looks livid as I pack up my textbook, spare parchment and then walk out of the classroom. It feels like we are back in first year, or how he treated me last year after I watched his memory. Like the scum of the earth. I feel horrible. Instead of turning in the direction of the infirmary, because both I and Snape know I don’t need a bloody check-up, I turn towards the dorm.

It’s empty and I run up the stairs and flop down on my bed. Shit. I really messed things up again and honestly, I have no idea how. But I know _that_ tone of voice, that expression. It was as if I stepped back in time with a time-turner and it feels awful. I turn on my stomach and press my cheek into the soft fabric of my pillow. Just like that, all my bravado, all the strength I felt yesterday is gone. Poof.

I end up skipping lunch, staying inside my bed and staring out the window. I ignore Ron when he comes to check on me, even offering a sandwich he snatched from the kitchen. He gives up eventually when I stop reacting to him. Dread accumulates inside my stomach and it seems I have no defences against these kinds of sensations. Not when they are fuelled by Snape.

I wish I could go back to his classroom and beg him to not hate me again, but I feel so hopeless, too tired again to even move from my bed. I skip charms and then dinner and no matter how much my stomach is grumbling, no matter how much I want to run down to Snape for our training session, I just can’t. So, I stay. Outside, it’s long gotten dark, the ominous sounds of the winds howling around the tower so very fitting for my mood.

Eventually, I hear the door open and to my utter dismay my head of house steps in, sending Ron, who steadfastly refused to leave and is currently reading an old quidditch magazine, down into the common room. I ignore her too and curl up a little more. I look pathetic but perhaps it’s better for them all to see what kind of useless saviour they all rally around. I hate myself when I am like this, whiny, hopeless and I want so bad to just get up and shrug it off. So, Snape hates me? I lived with this knowledge for years. Why does it paralyze me right now?

McGonagall stares at me for a moment and then sighs.

“You skipped your classes this afternoon,” she says chidingly. I stay silent. “I also didn’t see you at mealtime today,” she adds, and I just close my eyes. Really, I want her to leave me alone, nothing more. She tries again, a different avenue this time. “The headmaster sent for you an hour ago, but you ignored his owl.” When that also doesn’t get a reaction out of me, she sighs. “I heard you had a little argument with Professor Snape in class today.”

That finally provokes a reaction, albeit a small one. I open my eyes when I hear his name and McGonagall takes that as encouragement.

“I am sure whatever it is, can be sorted if you accompany me to the headmaster’s office, Mr Potter.” She presses her lips together. “Really, this is quite unbecoming of a Gryffindor.” She puffs out some air in annoyance when all she gets for this is a shrug. “I could take points for this or hand out a detention.”

I curl up even tighter at that and press my face against my knees. I am a tight little ball, ignoring the world for now. Part of me is aware how unreasonable I am acting. Nothing about this feels normal, but I can’t help it. After possibly staring at me for a couple of more moments, McGonagall leaves and I am alone again. Releasing a breath of air I was unknowingly holding, I turn on my back and stare up at the canopy of my four-poster.

The moonlight casts shadows into the room, and my eyes follow them as they move. The patterns of the window frame, a bird that flies past, and then Ron’s bed. The mediative silence is interrupted by the tell-tale pop of apparition and now I do look up. Snape stands next to the door, his long black cloak and scent giving him away. I inhale again, wanting to preserve his fragrance if nothing else.

I expect him to start berating me right away but instead, he walks over to the window to stare out into the uneasy night. From behind he looks perhaps more like the bat students enjoy insulting him as, with his black robe down to the floor and his lanky hair that rests on his shoulders.

“I’ve been notified of rumours in my house about a possible change in my relationship to you,” he starts, his voice deep and rumbling. “Notions like these can’t be passed on to the Dark Lord, so I needed to stomp them out. Hard.” He turns back towards me, his eyes as so often unreadable. “I am sorry if my behaviour earlier today seemed like a return to our previous arrangement. Nothing in my attitude towards you has changed, however.”

“Really?” I sniffle like a toddler. Great, Potter. That’ll show him that you are a reasonable adult instead of a pathetic child.

“Really. I still think you are a menace,” he says and there, something tugs at the corners of his mouth. It’s barely there but my heart soars. I expect him to simply leave but instead, he walks over and points at the bed. “May I?”

Wide-eyed I stare at him as my mind considers the implications. What does he ask for? To join me in bed? To curl up with me? More?

Snape sighs. “I’d simply like permission to sit down at the edge of your bed.” When I frown, he huffs. “You don’t get to be affronted when you essentially push your thought into my mind like that.”

I swallow and make a little more space. “S-sure, yeah, sit down.” I sound like a rambling fool and close my eyes mortified. The bed dips when Snape sits down and I can feel the warmth from his body, can smell his scent.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever been in a Gryffindor dormitory,” Snape says into the silence, that is only interrupted by my occasional sniffling and the howling winds outside. “It looks remarkably similar to the Slytherin ones, except the outlandish decorum of course.”

I snort. “I was disappointed when I couldn’t find any of the Slytherin colours in your personal quarters,” I admit, slowly relaxing.

“I am not very fond of the green and silver myself,” Snape confesses freely. “Too many bad memories that are intrinsically linked with them over the years.” He sighs. “I sometimes can’t help but wonder if by keeping me here, after your mother died, Albus inflicted a certain punishment. I haven’t known anything else for almost thirty years.”

“I’m going to miss Hogwarts once I have to leave,” I whisper and inch a little closer to Snape. “The thought terrifies me.”

Snape hums but makes no move to push me away. “Understandable. For so many, the castle is the first home they feel a sort of belonging.” He turns his head and looks at me, my body now only mere inches from him. “You’ll be fine.”

“What if I don’t? What if I can’t function outside the castle? What if I mess it up?” _As right now?_ I ignored an owl from the headmaster, after all. Probably not many people live to tell the tale.

“You won’t.” Somewhere from downstairs, I can hear soft music and laughter.

“You can’t know that” I insist.

Snape turns his whole body so that now he faces me and then one calloused but warm finger forces my chin up so that I have to face him. “I can. I have seen you, how you grew from a scared little boy failed by the adults around him, to a young, assertive man inspiring half the school yesterday. I am not the least bit worried it’s you who will lead the charge against the darkness. If nothing else, you have won my allegiance, not out of obligation but out of trust.”

Something like a sob frees itself from my throat as I press my face against his thigh. It’s just as warm as the rest of him, I can feel his firm muscles underneath the cotton of his slacks. Snape’s words are supposed to make me feel better but in reality, I feel more pathetic. If all that were true, I wouldn’t be here, curled up in my bed after Snape behaved no differently than in the last five years.

A warm hand hesitantly touches my head and then slowly runs through my messy hair. I hold my breath, wait for him to repeat the motion and then slowly exhale. Like a kitten, I press into the touch and almost purr. Nobody ever touched me like that, so gently, again and again, fingers trail through my hair until I feel the tension leave my shoulders. Eventually, Snape stops and carefully turns me so that he can see my face.

“I have a proposition, something that perhaps will make you feel better,” he softly suggests. “It might sound odd, but I am convinced it might help you.”

I sit up and look at him with interest. Snape’s cheeks are a bit pinker than usual and there is an expression that with anybody else I would call shyness. But this is Snape, and he is never shy.

“What is it?” I ask a little breathlessly.

Snape’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Come here,” he beckons and without any doubt, I move closer until I am almost pressed to the side of Snape’s body. I’ve never been this close to him and a shiver of excitement runs through my body. “Place you face here,” he mutters and points towards his upper chest.

I remember doing something similar yesterday at breakfast and with my eyes closed, I rest my cheek against Snape’s robes. This feels lovely, warm and like home. I can feel him move and then more of his delicious scent drifts into my nose, fills my body with content. I am on autopilot, as I move my face closer to where I want to be, my nose twitching like that of an animal. Closer and closer, until the side of my nose feels warm skin underneath and my senses are assaulted by Snape’s mouth-watering scent.

Someone is sighing and it takes a while for me to notice that was me, but I am beyond caring. Snape was right, this is exactly what I needed. I can feel the leaden weight lift from me and suddenly the world is shifted. I feel a warm arm curling around my shoulder, a firm hand holding me loosely in place and then I drift into sweet nothingness.

I can’t say how much time passes, or how I spend it because I still drift in that hazy sensation much later when Snape gently nudges me.

“You should eat something,” he suggests and for some reason, I don’t even imagine refusing him. I’d do anything right now if he told me to and none of it feels alarming to me. I happily sigh and nod against his neck. Snape nudges me again. “I have a dinner plate for you down in my quarters, but you need to move.”

I snuggle into his chest a little more and yawn. “Can’t you side-apparate me?” I mumble into his chest and close my eyes as I feel a pull on my body. The sensation is one I don’t care for, like being pressed through a rubber band and I gag once the pressure is released.

“Bloody hell,” I mutter as I try to keep from puking. My stomach is pretty empty but still, I don’t want to take the risk that Snape just leaves. I have a feeling if I were to puke on his robe, he might find that off-putting.

“Are you alright,” he asks and moves to rest me more comfortably on the sofa. The room looks exactly as I remember it, with the seating area and the desk in front of the window, once again spilling over with parchments and books.

I smile. “I am fine.” And I am. I feel almighty at that moment as if I could do anything, I’d set my mind to.

Snape picks up the plate and holds it under my nose. “Sandwiches,” he says quietly, sounding like a waiter announcing his menu. “Ham, cheese, cucumber.”

I nod but make no move to take one. Instead, I snuggle back against Snape’s chest, not wanting to take the risk of losing that contact. I can feel Snape’s torso move as he sighs and then he hands me a sandwich. Obediently, I take it and start chewing on it. To my surprise, I find myself hungry and the sandwich is wolfed down in mere seconds. Another one is handed to me and I continue to eat one after the other, both of us silent as we watch the flames flicker in the hearth. In between sandwiches, Snape hands me pumpkin juice to wash everything down with.

When the plate is empty and the pitcher with juice drained, I lean back happily. I am full and sleepy but for nothing in the world would I move away from here. My lids grow heavier with each passing second, and I must have dozed off for a minute because the next thing I know is that I am picked up and carried to a place that’s soft and warm and cosy. I can feel Snape as he slides into bed next to me and snuggled to his chest I fall into a deep, restful sleep.

*

_The air is clear and frosty on top of the mountain but those choosing this spot as their regular meeting place are not bothered by cold or the frigid wind that tugs at their black capes. The moonlight catches in a silver chalice that is going around, each of them bringing the rune-etched rim to their lips. In the distance a wolf howls, the sounds carried by the wind through the Romanian valleys and over the peaks of the Carpathian Mountains._

_“Your report, brother.”_

_“It is as we anticipated.”_

_“Are they aware of what has been forged?”_

_A derisive chuckle. “Of course not.”_

_“Good.” The oldest of the men is the last to receive the chalice and he empties it onto the barren ground. “Our secrets can’t be unveiled by the unworthy, brothers. Especially not by common wizarding folk.”_

_Several hood-covered heads nod in the silence of the Carpathian night._

_“What about him? He is a threat to us as well.” One of the men looks up and his eerily glowing eyes take in his brother._

_The elder shrugs. “Only theatrics. We’ve been here long before the rest of them and we will remain here long after. For now, our objective remains clear. No dark lords or chosen ones will change our eternal purpose.”_

_Again, most nod but there is a muttering of dissent from some. The elder raises his hands and all fall instantly silent._

_“Stay true to the purpose and our fates remain steady. If one of those fanatics start to threaten our mission, there are ways to deal with them.” He turns to the one who delivered the message. “You did well, Brother Byron. In time, all things will reveal themselves. For now, let’s start our hunt for tonight and revel in the blood we will spill.”_

_The elder extends his arms and then all ascend into the stygian night, one by one disappearing into the darkness. Eventually, the only thing left are little droplets of blood on the rocks formed thousands of years ago by the lava of a volcano and the lonely cries of a wolf somewhere in the distance._


	21. Moving forward by Exonerating the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am swarmed with work for my classes, but luckily for you writing helps me clear my head. Finally, our two guys have a very important talk and one more sweet moment between them. I know this slow burn is extremely slow but we are carefully raising the temperature. I know I don't say it nearly often enough, but thank you for those of you who leave comments and kudos and those who simply stick around to read. It is more appreciated than you will ever know. 💜

The next day starts somewhat on a familiar note when I wake up in Snape’s bed, but this time I can hear someone snore softly next to me. My body freezes, and I am torn between wanting to turn around and slither away into a dark corner in mortification. I acted like such a tool yesterday, for the silliest reasons and on top of it all, I did it in full view of everybody. Ron and Hermione are one thing. They’ve been with me through so much crap already, having seen the worst of me and are still not running for the hills, so them being witness to my utter idiocy is not such a big deal. 

Even the other boys in my dorm know I am a little weird, with mood swings and sometimes disappear for some reason only to reappear later without any explanation. But now even my head of house and the headmaster know what a twit I am. I will never be able to live that down. And Snape. Worst of all, Snape knows that despite what I said, I simply fall apart whenever he looks at me the wrong way. Who wants someone like that? A clinger. And a prude, apparently. I press my face into the pillow, which doesn’t help, like at all, because it smells like Snape. 

The snoring next to me stops and my body goes rigid again. Dude, turn around, act cool. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You’ve been wanking thinking about Snape, you’ve been actively working on creating those ‘moments’ between you, so why do you act like a bloody fool now? Snape will think you are too young to even contemplate such a relationship with, so stop acting stupid! 

If I am honest with myself it’s more than the sex part that scares me. I told you, I lose control of my senses around this guy, I start acting weird and nobody likes that. I inhale and then shriek when I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. Instantly, the hand is pulled back as if burnt.

Snape clears his throat. “It’s seven o’clock, so I need to get ready for my first class. Feel free to stay awhile.” He pauses and then I hear him swing his legs out of bed. I almost peek if he is wearing a nightshirt or pyjamas, but I stay where I am, pressing my face into the pillow. “The headmaster was notified of what happened,” he adds, and it sounds as if he is justifying himself to me. Which would be hysterical at any other moment. “You may take the day off or return to your normal classes, whatever suits you better.”

He gets up and as he walks to the door leading to the sitting room, I actually do peek- he is wearing his clothes from last night, minus the robe. I stay in bed while I listen as he gets ready in the bathroom, then leaves through the front door. Only then do I collapse and groan into the sheets. This day couldn’t have started any worse.

*

I don’t decide to fall back asleep, it just happens, okay? So later, I have really no idea what time it is, I drag myself out of bed and to my surprise find a complete English breakfast in the sitting room. My stomach decides to use that moment to announce that it’s starving and so I flop down and start. I refuse to think about what happened last night, so I don’t, while I eat fried eggs, bangers, bacon, mushrooms, beans on toast, a whole bowl of oatmeal and then to close it off I nibble on a platter of assorted fruits. I wash it down with a whole pot of strong morning tea and when I slowly begin to feel like a normal human being again, the fireplace flares to light.

“Good morning, Harry.” Dumbledore. Of course. I remember what Snape warned me about. Wait till he considers you his friend and you can say goodbye to any semblance of privacy. Apparently, we are there.

The headmaster has one of those broad smiles on his face and as he sits down, I can see that there is a bandage on his good hand. I point towards it, like an impolite fool.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

Dumbledore looks down at his hand. “Ah yes, I am, no need to worry, my boy. This is one of Severus’ treatment attempts and I have to say I am doing much better today.” He winks and pours himself a cup of tea from a pot that instantly refilled when he entered the room. “I had quite an ample breakfast this morning,” he says and then takes in the meagre rest on the table. “Not as splendid as yours, but I am afraid I don’t have the youthful vigour of your age anymore.” 

I pull up my knees to my chest and rest my head on my knees. “I am sorry for missing my classes,” I mutter and pull on some invisible threads from my jeans. 

Dumbledore waves that away. “That’s all been sorted, my boy. You can take-“

“The day off” I interrupt, showing my lack of manners again. “Yes, I know, Snape told me. Speaking of Snape, do you know what happened to me yesterday?” Again, I astound myself with my smoothness. Talk about going about it like a bull with a gate.

“Yes, I do.” Dumbledore leans back and sips from his tea. “As a matter of fact, Severus came to me right after your unfortunate lesson. He was quite troubled, but I convinced him to give you a little time, to wait if you’d turn up for your training sessions with him. When you didn’t, and all avenues to reach you failed, I lifted the restrictions for apparition and allowed him to deal with the situation with the utmost discretion.”

“But do you know what happened to me?” I ask chewing on my lower lip. This has been driving me mental the last hours.

“Ah, I see.” Dumbledore sighs. “I am afraid not. Now, Severus and I, we have suspicions, nothing more right now. It’s curious indeed, very curious. You clearly were affected by his rejection more than you normally should have been.”

I just know he keeps information from me, he knows more than he’s letting on, but I am painfully aware from prior interactions with the headmaster, that he only ever divulges what and when he decides it’s prudent. 

“I fell apart,” I press out bluntly. “And I have no idea why.” When Dumbledore only hums and helps himself to some grapes, I snap. “Doesn’t that bother you, Sir? The saviour of the wizarding world, your chosen one, falling apart just because Snape is mean to me a tiny bit? It would bother me if I were you.”

“Harry, perhaps you still look at the world with the childlike perspective of adults always being in full control of their senses, always managing their emotions and under no circumstances do they ever just fall apart, do the most inane things possible for the silliest reasons. However, the truth is that we all stumble through this cacophony of noise and feelings that we call life and despite trying, we all fail more often than not. We are all flawed individuals, who in the end can only try to do what’s right.” He watches me from over his cup of tea, his blue eyes for once not twinkling. “So, to answer your question, if it bothers me that you are no different than the common man- not at all. In fact, it would bother me more if you appeared to be holding it together all the time. I’d question whether you would be up to the job in that case. I have told you time and time again that your capacity for feeling, your deep emotions, are what makes you uniquely equipped to fight this war.”

I can’t help but snort. “You should have seen me yesterday,” I say as I stare out the enchanted window glumly. “I was a mess.”

Dumbledore chuckles. “Oh yes, I got a very vivid description from Minerva when she returned.” He reaches over and pads my hand. “We’ve all been there, my boy. The important matter is to pick yourself up again. Now, can you do that?”

Can I? Can I promise that I will, even if Snape gives me the cold shoulder again? Yesterday, before I broke down, I thought so, but now it would feel dishonest to promise something that seems out of my control.

“Can you promise that Snape will be with me the whole time? Can you promise that he won’t die on one of your errands? Can you guarantee that he won’t grow tired of a boy, who seems to make a habit of falling apart?” 

Dumbledore seems to consider these questions and then smiles sadly. “I am afraid no one can, not even Severus if he is honest. But because none of us knows what the future holds, we cannot possibly know what our hearts will feel. However, I did not ask you to succeed, Harry. I asked if you are willing to try. I presume I am asking for your allegiance in this fight.” When I want to open my mouth, he raises his hands. “This is no small proposition so think it over.”

“I don’t have to,” I answer, my gaze steady and true. “I never did it for myself, all of this. If I will ever rid the world of Tom Riddle it won’t be for me or glory, it will be to avenge all those that died, to ease the pain that so many felt, to make our world safe again, whatever you blood status, whoever you are. So yes, I can promise to try as long as it takes, until one of us is dead, however, I can’t promise I’ll succeed.”

Dumbledore smiles. “That’s all anyone can ask for.” He chuckles. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to, but in my office two fairly worried Gryffindors are waiting to come down and see you.” As he gets up, I follow suit, curious now. I remember how he left the castle a few days ago.

“Are you going on one of your little trips?” I am not even trying to sound blasé. Another thing that has been wracking my mind.

Dumbledore nods. “Yes, indeed.” As he takes out a pinch of Floo powder from the china box on the mantlepiece, his sleeve rides up to reveal a silver bracelet around his wrist. It’s made off little shiny discs that are connected by thin silver threads. I can make out runes etched into the metal; shapes I have never seen before. One is repeated several times, a triangle with a circle inside and a vertical line through the shape. Looking at it gives me a strange feeling, like an omen.

“Care to tell me where you are going?” 

Dumbledore turns to me and in his eyes, I can see the twinkle is back. “I am afraid, not yet. It is particularly important to keep the nature of my visits a secret for now, but you will be one of the firsts to know.” There is a warmth in his eyes, that doesn’t seem directed at me. “Just know that my destination is not a foreign one, I’ve been there before. Now-“ He steps into the fireplace. “Spend some time with your friends, rest and then resume your life. Severus has assured me that you are free to stay however long you desire, and that includes Mr Weasley and Ms Granger. He should be back at around six if you care to stay. Enjoy yourself, Harry, even in the darkest of times. We mustn’t lose sight of the light, especially when darkness surrounds us.” With a wink, he throws the powder into the air and green flames swallow him.

When he is gone, I stroll back to the sofa, pour myself another cup of tea and then turn around in time to see Ron and Hermione stumble out of the fireplace. 

“Harry.” Hermione throws her arms around me, and I return the hug with vigour. I missed my friends, even if I got to spend a whole night with Snape. “Are you alright?” she asks with a sniffle.

I pull away and grin. “I am fine, I promise.” I point to the table that has been refilled with a steaming pot of tea and an assortment of cookies and pastries. “Care for a cuppa?”

Ron's eyes light up. “Oi, pastries.” With a grin, he snatches one and bites into the cheesy goodness. “So good,” he moans and then loops his arms around my shoulder. He now towers almost a head over me. “I’m glad you are sorted again, mate. We were worried about you.”

I sink down on the sofa, tucked in between Ron and Hermione, who has poured herself a cup of nice, steaming tea.

“I know,” I sigh. “And I am sorry.”

Hermione tucks her legs in and takes a sip from her tea. “Do you want to tell us what happened?” she asks gently, her warm hazel eyes taking in my frame as I frown.

“I’d love to,” I begin. “If I knew what exactly happened to me last night.”

“You acted like a zombie,” Ron says, his blue eyes serious for once. “We thought perhaps you had a relapse, to how you were earlier this year. Before Snape, you know?”

“All I remember is that I overreacted to Snape acting like his old self again in class,” I reply with a sigh. “I was such a tool, completely falling apart when he came into the dorm.”

“He visited our dorm?” Hermione asks big-eyed.

“Yeah, Dumbledore lifted the restrictions so he apparated right in.”

Ron has taken another pastry and is in the process of devouring it. Honestly, that guy eats almost double his weight in food. No idea where it goes, as he is still quite lanky. 

“What did he say?”

I shrug. “He was actually quite nice, explained to me why he decided to treat me like dirt under his shows again.” I can’t help but sound bitter. “Apparently, someone in his house started to notice that our relationship changed, and he needed to make sure none of that got back to his master.”

“Quite effective if you ask me,” Ron suggests. “He had even me fooled.”

I snort. “We both have practice at hating each other. Suffice to say that he apologized and then-“ I hesitate, not sure how to phrase what else happened. How can I describe the feeling of contentment I gained by being physically close to Snape? By the way he took care of me? It sounds strange, even to my own ears. 

“Then?” Hermione gently places the small of her hand on my arm. “Harry, you know I’d never pressure you, but I really think talking about it might do you some good.” Her eyes meet Ron’s. “You keep so much locked up inside, perhaps you feel you have to or that nobody would want to bother, but we love you and you can always share anything with us.”

I lean my head against Hermione’s shoulder and feel her warm hand caress my arm. Perhaps she’s right. I certainly can’t make sense of it all alone, so maybe I should share it with my two best friends. After all, Ron and Hermione are the closest thing to a family I have. 

“I felt horrible,” I begin quietly. “Worse than ever before. Tired, and hopeless, as if the whole world were dark and grey. I’ve never felt like that before, Mione.”

“Hm, that sounds awfully much like a depression.” When Ron looks confused, she continues. “A muggle disease. You feel hopeless and exhausted as if you’ll never feel joy again.”

Ron makes a face. “Sounds like a dementor to me.”

I perk up at that. “You know what? You are right. It felt very much like my encounters with dementors, but I didn’t hear anything or relived a terrible memory.” I drag my hands through my hair. “Why would I feel like this?”

“You missed the git.” Ron sighs. “You thought you’d lost him.”

I frown. “I know sadness and anger but that felt way worse. It scared me, the power Snape has over me. When he comforted me, I’d have done anything for him. That’s sick.”

Hermione rubs her chin. “That’s a strong reaction indeed. I need to do some research, but I am sure we get to the bottom of it.”

“There is no mystery our Hermione can’t solve in the library,” Ron agrees and reaches over to clasp her hand. 

Hermione interlaces her fingers with Ron’s and then takes my hand into hers. “No matter what, Harry, you don’t have to shut us out, ever. We are not just talking; we are ready to help you carry whatever you need help with. And not just us, you have so many people who want to help.”

“I know,” I say, and I mean it. I have this tendency to keep stuff to myself, but that is not necessarily a healthy one. The spotlight as the chosen one may be on me, but in reality, I’d not survive a single day without my friends, without Dumbledore or without Snape. However uncomfortable that makes me feel, it is true. And it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I need to draw strength from that, for when I need it.

“Where’s Snape?” Ron asks, looking around curiously. “And where are the torture devices?”

“In the bedroom,” I smirk, and Ron claps me on the back.

“Don’t need that imagery,” he says. “I expected it to be… greener. And not so nice.”

“Yeah, turns our Snape isn’t into Slytherin colours at all,” I reply. “Bad memories, probably.” My eyes fall on the grandfather clock. “Shouldn’t you be in class?” I ask. “I mean, I have permission to take the day off, but are you telling me, Hermione skipped transfiguration?” I grin.

Hermione huffs. “You needed us,” she insists. “Professor Dumbledore assured us he would inform Professor McGonagall about our absence.”

“Plus, we got the chance to see Snape’s quarters. Couldn’t resist,” Ron says and sighs. “I can’t get over the fact that everything looks so normal here. Almost cosy.” He winks. “Another childlike belief shattered.”

“I am not surprised,” Hermione says. “I don’t expect Professor McGonagall’s quarters to be decorated in red and gold, so why should Professor Snape’s be?”

“Right, of course.” Ron turns to me. “We should probably leave if we want to get something to eat for lunch. You know how greedy the other Gryffindors are, especially when we have pizza.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here,” I say. “I still need to talk with Snape, and I am really not feeling up to potions this afternoon.”

Hermione looks as if she wants to argue but then relents. “At least, try to do your reading for tomorrow. You don’t want to fall behind.”

I grin. “Sure, Mione. You know me.”

“Yes,” she pulls a face. “That’s why I am mentioning it.”

“Will you join us for our quidditch practice later?” Ron asks as we walk to the door. “I guess Ginny wants to know. She’s been covering for you whenever you couldn’t attend.”

I frown. “No, I don’t think so. I reckon I should hand over my position as captain to Ginny, after all. She is really good at it and I have a feeling I’ll be busy with classes, Dumbledore’s Army and my training sessions with Snape.” I place my hand on Ron’s arm. “Could you float this idea by her? See if she is willing?”

Ron shrugs, looking unconcerned. “Sure, I’ll ask her. She’s probably okay with it.” He hugs me. “Do we see you later or do you stay here another night?”

“Probably not,” I answer. “I’ll almost certainly see you tonight in the dorm.”

“Good, good. Take care and don’t let Snape trample all over you.” Ron smirks but there is a steely glint in his eyes. 

I nod. “I won’t, don’t worry. See you later guys.”

*  
I end up not doing anything, just taking naps on the sofa or stroll through the sitting room, without opening any drawers or cupboards, just staring at book titles, sitting at Snape’s desk and watching the giant squid do its rounds in the black lake. I didn’t plan it, I just ended up lazing about. I am back on the sofa, my feet dangling over the armrest, sipping some tea and watching strange shadows on the ceiling, when the door is pushed open.

Snape looks startled for a moment, as if he’s surprised to see me, but then simply nods. He walks over to the desk, deposits a batch of rolled up parchments on the top and then goes into his bedroom. I hear drawers open, rustling and eventually he steps our again, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white shirt. 

Walking over, he pours himself a cuppa and then graciously sits down in his armchair. Over the rim of his teacup, he watches me as I continue to stare at the ceiling.

“I take it you decided to skip your classes?” He doesn’t sound mad at all, but I feel guilty, nevertheless.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “S’rry.”

Snape shrugs and takes a sip from his tea. “No need to apologise. Your teachers had been informed of your possible absence.”

“Brilliant.” I turn my head and finally look at him. “More parchments to grade?” I motion to the desk with my chin.

Snape sighs. “They never stop coming, I’m afraid. One of the more unpleasant necessities of teaching.”

“So, there are actual things about being a professor you like?” I smirk.

“Perhaps.”

“Like?”

Snape puffs out air as if annoyed but there are none of the usual signs in his body language. “Punishing unruly students, handing out detentions, stealing candy from Albus and then feeding it to some of Pomona’s carnivorous plants, ending up annoying both of them.” When he sees my incredulous face, he shrugs. “Little pleasures and all that. Teaching would have hardly been my first choice as a profession.” He takes another sip. “Or at all.”

I turn on my side, resting my cheek on my hand. “What would you have liked to do?”

Snape sighs. “No idea. I never thought about it, really. I was so young when I started teaching, barely out of school with no time to consider my prospective choice of career.”

“But you wanted to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, didn’t you?” I ask as I take in Snape’s relaxed body, the way he balances the teacup as he listens. “I mean, I can’t help but notice how passionate you are about them, both now in our classes and as a student, in your old textbook.”

“Yes and no,” Snape answers, his black eyes getting a faraway expression, staring over my head. “It’s hardly ever that easy. Spell-creation was something my mother taught me long before I came to Hogwarts, so it seemed only natural to continue with it while I was attending school. Surely, I don’t need to tell you that the dark arts are equally as fascinating as they are repulsive but as they do exist, I always believed it prudent to understand how to defend oneself against them. There is something almost sensual, wild about that aspect of magic, quite unlike charms or even potion-making. It appealed to me, back then and now, to control something that is ultimately uncontrollable.” 

“Speaking about potions,” I reply after Snape has been staring into the darkness for a while. “How did you end up teaching those?”

Snape’s features change into something akin to a smirk, barely there but quite noticeable when you spend time with him. It always tells me that the next statement is one that fills him with slight amusement, not to be taken completely seriously, yet it would be foolish to ever disregard something Severus Snape states. 

“A quite practical reason, in the end. Horace had retired that year and Albus needed both a new potions teacher and a head of Slytherin house. I had the choice of accepting the offer and with it Albus’ protection or try my luck out in the world. It wasn’t a particularly difficult decision if one wanted to live.”

I frown as I consider his words. “Because you were afraid of the other Death Eaters?”

“In a way. However, Albus also made it clear that the testimony at my trial would come at a price.” 

“Your spying.”

Snape nods slowly. “These events didn’t happen in close proximity. I am the first one to admit that my relationship with Albus is complex. I am grateful that he protected me all those years, kept me out of prison when I deserved to be locked away. But I also know he exacted his own kind of punishment on me, likely for the greater good so that I could find possible redemption. Nothing he does is ever done at a whim, it’s always part of some elaborate plan. We are just lucky that mostly those plans line up with our ideas about the greater good.”

“That sounds… calculating,” I say. And it does. This is a side to the headmaster I always on some level knew existed, but to hear it spelt out like that, by another one that suffered under Dumbledore’s meddling, is disturbing. 

Snape flips his wand floating two glasses over and a decanter filled with what I recognise as firewhiskey. I had it before. Both glasses are filled as the decanter dips on its own and then one floats over to me. Snape watches me as I take a small sip, keep the burning drink in my mouth and then carefully swallow. Only then, does he start to sip from his glass. When he leans back, his posture relaxes, and he crosses his stretched-out legs at his ankles as he stares into the amber liquid in his tumbler.

“I really can’t complain,” he eventually says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I am still alive, never went to Azkaban, had a roof over my head and a steady job for close to twenty years.”

“But there are so many things you missed out on,” I insist hotly as I empty my glass. The searing alcohol is running down my throat to settle in my stomach. “A fulfilling job, a family, choices. Instead, you are putting your life on the line every day, without recognition. They all-“ I motion with the empty glass over my head. “Owe you a debt of gratitude Snape but all they do is speculate if you really can turn into a bat.”

“A bat?” Snape pulls up the corners of his mouth. “Students are rarely inventive with their ridicule.”

Without noticing it, I sat up, so I flop down again. I am a tiny bit dizzy, but there is no need for Snape to know that I still can’t hold my liquor. 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” I mutter into the cushions. 

“The only halfway thought-through ideas of students? No, not for a long time. I graded too many assignments from brainless dunderheads for that.”

I snort. “Figures.” I turn on my back and revert to stare up at the ceiling. The room is darker now, more ominous. “It just drives me mental when the other students continue to mouth off these crappy ideas about you, not aware of how often you protected them and our world in the last years.”

“The lot of a spy,” Snape replies, his eyes still watching me. This used to drive me mental but not anymore. These days his gaze feels protective, even a little thrilling. “And just to make one point abundantly clear, I am no innocent in this. I deserve some kind of penance for what I did, if for nothing else than some retribution to the dead.”

“Because you were a Death Eater? Because you got the mark?” 

“Because of what I did while wearing that mark,” Snape says quietly. “My fascination with the dark arts never ended with studying them. I used my fair share of them during the years I was a loyal follower of the dark lord, don’t fool yourself with thinking I didn’t.” I can see him swallow hard and then pour himself another glass. His hand is slightly shaking as he brings the rim to his mouth and then knocks back the drink. “I was friends with your mother when we went to school together,” he continues and I can make out his hand in the darkness, that clutches his armchair rest. “Lily used to live only a couple of streets from me and we met long before she got her letter from Hogwarts. I used to entertain her with stories about the castle and the wizarding world, until one day we got on the train to Hogwarts.” 

He chuckles darkly. “Suffice to say I messed up that friendship. I don’t think I have to tell you I am not an amicable person, getting along with other people didn’t come easy to me as it came to Lily. When we graduated, she was already dating your father and I didn’t see her again prior to her death.” Snape has averted his eyes, he is no longer watching me. “I didn’t even know that she got pregnant, much too busy associating with mass-murderers and sadists to care about my former friend. Part of me, a small, neglected part missed her but the rest was so resentful, blaming her for leaving me, and I continued down my destructive path. One evening I overheard a prophecy, about one who could vanquish the dark lord, one with the power to stop him, to be his equal and like all good dogs I instantly reported it back to my master.”

I can feel my stomach twist because I know where this story will lead, I know what’s going to happen next but the nausea that drifts up from my stomach feels surprisingly strong. Part of me wants to run away, to stop Snape from burdening us with the knowledge about his role in my parents’ death, but the other, bigger part knows we need this, we can’t move forward without sorting the looming past. And so, I stay, listen, enthralled just as a rabbit on front of a snake. 

“You know the rest of the story. He decided to target you and Lily and James and-“ He comes to a sudden stop, perhaps wanting to spare both of us from knowing every unsavoury truth about those days, but then I see the steely determination in his eyes. He needs this punishment, craves the penance. “I asked him, begged him to spare her,” he says and the remorse rings loud and clear in his voice. “Not you, not James, especially not James. For all I cared, you two could die as long as he spared my beloved Lily.” He lowers his gaze, stares into his lap. “This is not a story about heroes. I am no hero, only deeply flawed. You don’t owe me a debt of gratitude, not me. I deserve my punishment, and perhaps if I may one day sacrifice my own life for the greater good so that you can fulfil the prophecy done so many years ago, I might be redeemed.”

The room is dark, the fire only glowing ambers in the hearth as I stare into the darkness. Parts of that story I knew, other parts I suspected but I can’t deny the pain that shoots through me at the thought of Snape’s disregard to my own life. My father, perhaps somewhat understandable but to be indifferent whether a small baby lives or dies, that’s despicable. For a moment, I want to jump up and run away or pounce Snape where he sits, but instead, I stay where I am slumped on the sofa. 

I always knew he was flawed. Snape really makes no effort to hide that. His unpleasant personality, his sharp tongue, the failure to groom himself bordering on negligence. Here in front of me sits a man who believes himself so unlovable, so unredeemable, that he craves the judgement of a world that only sees his faults, his sins. And perhaps he deserves it. So many bad choices, all leading to that day when my mom died to protect me, to tears and loneliness. But Snape paid for that, he paid with perhaps a human being’s most precious resource: his own life. Years spent without moving forward, chained to the past with regrets and insufferable pain. Enduring the judgement of others, their verdict one of inadequacy. 

Snape clears his throat, his voice thicker, almost raspy as he continues. “You deserve to know, you deserve to be aware who you spend your time, associate with. There was a bloody good reason why your godfather hated me, why it is considered reasonable for you to spend your time with anybody else but me.”

“Do you regret it?” I ask, my voice surprisingly steady. I expected to sound broken, lost, instead, I sound like myself.

Snape’s head snaps to me, his eyes almost glowing in the semi-darkness. “Of course, I do. How can you ask that? There isn’t a day that goes by where I wish I could take Lily’s place, a day when I am not wracked by guilt. One of the reasons I despised you all those years, was because your visual presence didn’t allow me to hide from my sins any longer. You reminded me of my complete and utter failings, you still do.”

I have slowly inched closer to the edge of my seat and now gently place my hand over Snape’s. It’s clammy and I can feel the trembling in his fingers. “I can’t forgive you what you did my mom, Snape. Perhaps only you can one day. But I can relieve you from your debt towards me.” My eyes find him as he looks up. “You saved my life so many times over the last years, when I threw it away again and again, that I feel there are no more dues left.” My fingers curl around his, steadying the shaking digits. “You are forgiven, Severus.”

He inhales sharply, his eyes glued to mine. “You can’t possibly-“

“Snape, that’s not your decision to make,” I interrupt him and clutch his hand. “It’s mine and I am saying you can stop punishing yourself for what happened to me. Forgiveness is not something that’s earned, it’s given.”

Snape shudders and then closes his eyes. “You truly have your mother’s eyes,” he whispers. “Eerily so.”

“I’m only Harry,” I say softly, my eyes never leaving Snape’s face. “I can’t replace her.”

“I know,” Snape says and opening his eyes again, he turns his hand and interlaces our fingers. “I know.”

We share a long gaze until I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. I know what I want to ask, what I need to hear but I’m afraid I am not going to like what I am told.

“So, you and my mom…” I trail off, swallow again and then am surprised when Snape leans over and brushes his free hand over my cheek. Barely there, just the faintest of touches and yet it enflames me. 

“We were friends,” he says and there is a soft smile on his features, one I haven’t seen before. “Lily was the kindest, gentlest soul I’ve ever met. You’ve seen pictures of her, haven’t you?” When I nod, he chuckles softly. “Then you know that she possessed a beauty that far transcended her features. Lily radiated light, perhaps that’s why I was so drawn to her. I never had a huge amount of brightness in my life. There was a time when I thought I loved her, a time when I felt your father had stolen her from me, even long after their deaths. But the truth is love comes in so many forms and for a starved eleven-year-old it’s difficult to know how to differentiate them. Especially carnal love is easy to understand for an adolescent, easy to apply to a heart that’s brimming with emotion. I truly loved her, or perhaps more accurately what she brought into my life, but as you so intimately know, if the object of our affection is the wrong gender, then it’s impossible to force, no matter how much we might desire it.”

“So, you are….” I trail off again. Can I really dare to say it?

“I am just like you Harry,” Snape says, his eyes no longer exclusively filled with his regret and shame. “In more ways than one, but yes, in this particular matter, I couldn’t love Lily that way, because she was a girl.”

My mouth is suddenly dry, as hope flares in my heart. Like a ship, it barrels into Snape’s harbour, sails filled with the winds of hope as it pushes forward. “I like you, Snape,” I whisper, my voice almost breaking. “A lot.”

The words stay between us, like silent prayers, waiting to be answered. Like butterflies, they raise their tiny wings and flutter in the darkness, between two bodies that instinctively lean closer. 

“I know,” Snape answers, his thumb caressing the side of my hand, likely unintentionally. Heat floods from there through my body, to settle in my groin. “As I much as I’d prefer it, I can’t say I am indifferent to you. In fact, my feelings are alien to me, improper possibly, so much so that I reported them to Albus weeks ago.” His thumb begins to draw little circles on my skin, moving round and round, again and again, driving me absolutely crazy. “To no one’s surprise, the headmaster wasn’t any help in this, instead, prattling on about how precious life is, how we should embrace our feelings.” 

It’s clear to see how much these sentiments disgust Snape and I can’t help but chuckle. “Really? He said the same to me. I thought I was mental, like he was pushing me into your bed.”

Snape’s cheeks flush at my words and my grin widens. I am just so insanely happy, filled with hope for what my future may hold. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder how close brilliance and lunacy truly are with this old coot.” He shakes his head as if he wants to convince us both. “Nevertheless, the reasons not to act on these…” He hesitates, his voice raspy when he continues. “sentiments are still utterly convincing, for a multitude of reasons.”

“Have you ever noticed how you use bigger words whenever you talk about feelings?” I smirk.

Snape huffs. “Would you rather I’d talk like my muggle father after drinking his last brain cells away in a bar at the docks. I’d love to fuck ye Potter, bugger you with my prick.”

I can’t help it, I giggle and then raise Snape’s hand to my burning cheek. “Pretty much.” I twist my head, so his cool hand stays on my skin, but I glance up at him. “See, that’s what mentioning your prick does to me.”

Snape snorts, but his cheeks flush some more. “I feel I have to mention how inappropriate this all is.”

“Why? We have the headmaster’s blessing,” I say and brush Snape’s palm with my lips. “We’ll put the blame on him.”

“That might work for the saviour of the wizarding world, but almost certainly not for me,” Snape replies and then gently, but firmly extricates his fingers from mine. “It will be hard enough to hide these memories from the dark lord’s invasions into my mind.”

I sit back and press into the soft cushion in my back. “How does that even work? You can’t just block him out, can you? He’d notice that right away.”

Snape nods. “Indeed. It’s quite complicated. I have to include parts of what just happened into the memories I present to him and hide others so that what he sees supports my story.”

“And what is your story?”

“That I am abusing your feelings of abandonment to further trust between us so then, I can abduct and turn you over to my master.” 

“Nice,” I smirk again. “Let me know if you need to make these memories more realistic. Perhaps we should kiss or make out so that you are more convincing.”

Snape barely suppresses a grin. “Horny adolescent.”

I wink. “Hey, I am just concerned about your cover, nothing else.” 

“I shudder to think what you’d do if I encouraged your reckless behaviour,” Snape mutters as he averts his gaze.

“I’d beg you to fuck me if I had any hope that you’d budge,” I reply, enjoying the flush that intensifies on Snape’s cheek. “But alas, I know you are a man of principle, Snape, so a wank will have to do tonight.”

Closing his eyes, Snape’s scoffs. “You’ll be the death of me one day Potter,” he says as he sighs. 

I snort. “I assume by the time you’ll allow us to fuck like little horny rabbits, we just jump each other where we stand.”

Snape still has his eyes closed but I swear he’s rolling his eyes. “Such vulgarity.”

“Why so surprised? You saw months ago what I am up to on your sofa. I assure you I haven’t changed.” Snape’s peels his eyes open and I waggle my brows. “Just one word and I show you how much I am into your wand.”

Snape swallows hard, his eyes dart to where I paint little circles on the sofa with the tip of my wand. I would kill to know what kind of pictures his mind comes up with, what kind of feelings those memories trigger. 

“You are and always will be the bane of my existence.” 

I chuckle softly. “Always.”


	22. Denial is a Hell of a Drug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter for you on this lovely Sunday. Hope all are doing great and keeping safe in these crazy times.

“Neville, watch out!”

I observe with satisfaction how my Gryffindor friend dodges the dancing hex Justin threw into his direction. It’s close to eight o’clock on a Sunday, four weeks after my heart to heart with Snape. We resumed our old pattern of being enemies outside of Snape’s quarters, bickering like an old married couple, and then meeting up several evening in Snape’s quarters to practice elemental magic and additional curses. I am quite pleased that Snape makes no efforts to shield me, to keep the nasty stuff away; instead, he teaches me spells and curses that I am sure he’d get in trouble for teaching us in class.

We also return to our quite frustrating routine of hidden glances, innuendos and on occasion even some touching. However, it’s not as hot as it sounds, because while Snape’s hands sometimes find their way on places they really shouldn’t be in a strictly professional setting, it usually happens after he knocked me to the ground with a curse. I am either too out of breath or in too much pain to enjoy feeling his warm skin against mine. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t miss our little sessions for anything. Not even for my once greatest passion- quidditch. I ended up passing on the captain badge to Ginny, who seemed to have grown into an exception leader. I remember how she beamed when I told her, and how proud she looked when I passed on the position to her in front of the whole team. I still play as seeker but now I feel like a huge load is off my shoulders. I was feeling worse and worse about failing my teammates, with my constant absences and distractions.

My gaze shifts from my group to the other end of the hall where Ron is quite competently and- unsurprising in a Weasley’s case- playfully teaching the first and second years. Today they are working on the disarming charm and my heart swells with pride when I see a first-year from my own house disarm his friend. Opposite from them Luna and Ginny have taken on the students from third, fourth and fifth year, currently teaching hexes and counter-hexes. I watch amused as Luna keeps on dancing from a hex while she explains to her group how important knowing a counter-curse is. Ginny is wavering between amusement and burning desire to cast the counter-hex on her best friend, her fingers curling around her wand while she giggles softly.

Opposite from my training space, Hermione is teaching the sixth- and seventh-year students who didn’t join Dumbledore’s Army last year and brings them up to speed. Most of them are working on their Patronus spell and I am immensely pleased to see some of them already casting a semi-corporeal one. I remember how it took us almost the whole year to have everybody cast their first fully corporeal Patronus, and I am almost bursting with pride watching the cleverest witch I’ve ever known teaching, with a cool head, a warm heart and unmistakable success.

“Harry! Watch the-“ Something hits me in the back and I am propelled through the air, only to slam into the opposing wall. For a short moment, I see stars, every bone in my body groans with the force of the impact.

“Harry.” Hermione is by my side in an instant, her warm hand gently brushing over my chest and my face, checking me for injuries.

“What are you doing?” Ron asks, frowning as he watches his girlfriend touching me up. Yeah buddy, this is really not as hot as it looks, plus, I am not into girls.

“Checking him for broken bones and ribs, of course,” Hermione snaps back and now starts to prod me with her finger.

“Hey, that hurts,” I press out when she presses into my side.

Instantly, Hermione looks apologetic. “Oh, I am so sorry Harry, I am just trying to figure out if we can move you.”

Ron kneels down next to her, making no effort to keep his bloody girlfriend from jabbing her fingers into my clearly bruised side, repeatedly, despite my objections.

“But why are you doing it with your hand?” When Hermione stares at him as if he’s talking some exotic language she doesn’t understand, Ron sighs. “Are you a witch or what?” he asks and now Hermione shrieks silently.

“Merlin’s beard, of course!” She turns to me and my pained grimace. “Oh Harry, I am so, so sorry. I’d never want to hurt you.”

I cup her hand, the one she was continuously poking me with, and force a smile on my face. “I know that Mione, I truly do, but could you perhaps simply call Madame Pomfrey? I think my rib’s at least bruised, perhaps broken.”

Covering her mouth with her hand, Hermione wants to jump up, when Ginny appears in my line of vision. I can see the concern in her dark eyes, but thankfully nothing that indicates that she cares for me as more than a friend, the seeker of her quidditch team and perhaps the chosen one, destined to save her from an evil madman.

“No need to,” she says with a curt smile. “Luna already left and should be back any minute now.” She takes in my face, that’s contorted with pain. “Worse than when the Ravenclaw chaser pushed you off your broom in our first match this year?” When I nod, she winces. “Sorry to hear that but Luna will be back shortly.”

Trying to distract me from the throbbing pain in my side, I grin at Ron. “What bastard dared to hit me with a stunning spell?”

Before Ron can answer, I am assaulted by a blaze of brown hair and soft arms. “I am so sorry, Harry,” Astoria wails into my chest, looking clearly disturbed. I don’t really blame her for the wayward spell but her weight pressing into my side starts to hurt. I carefully pad her back, make some comforting noises and then carefully push her away.

“It’s alright, Astoria,” I try to calm down the almost hysterical Slytherin. In her sobs and wails, I can make out interspersed words, that suspiciously sound like _‘I killed the chosen one’_ and so I grip her shaking shoulders. “Astoria, please listen to me! I am fine, or at least I will be once somebody actually manages to get a healer here, preferably with a pain potion or two. It was an accident, okay?” Astoria nods but still clings to my arms like a lifeline. “Could you do me a favour and get me some water from the refreshment table?” I ask and feel relieved once she nods excitedly. I sink back against the wall and scowl at Ron, who is smirking. “Shut up,” I say with a glare. Bloody friends! Who needs enemies when you got Ron Weasley as your best mate?

Astoria is back in an instant, a glass of water in her hand and to my mortification, she gently cups the back of my head and assists me with the water as if I am an invalid. Her tear-stained face looks almost lunatic with the broad smile and the sparkle in her eyes. Bloody hell, she looks almost like- nope, not going there. I am not entertaining the thought that a young girl of fourteen years is currently leaning over me with eyes that sparkle just the way Dumbledore’s do. It’s too crazy and right now I need sane, and a healing potion, not necessarily in this order.

A moment ago, everybody has been chattering, standing around the injured saviour like people can’t move away from a car accident, but now it is terrifyingly quiet. Somebody clears their throat above us, and I attempt to peak around Astoria’s body.

“Ms Greengrass, please let go of Mr Potter so that we can examine him.” Snape. Great. Inside, growing mortification fights my bubbly joy at hearing Snape’s voice. I must have mirrored Astoria’s mad smile, cause she winks at me and then rises from where she is kneeling above my legs. _Lovely, just lovely._ That must have looked totally innocent, nothing to worry about with a sane person. Only problem is that Snape isn’t what I’d necessarily call a completely sane person. He snarls and growls and acts all around possessive at times. The thought that he might rip Astoria’s head off, shouldn’t arouse me as it does. _That’s sick, Potter. Sick._

“I am so sorry, Professor,” Astoria says as she faces her head of house. “I was just trying to help, and Harry asked me to-”

“To bring me water,” I splutter and it’s certainly not helping that I am blushing like a virgin being touched for the first time.

“I see,” Snape replies, too calm for my taste. Everyone knows that this guy is a raging maniac under his serene exterior. “That certainly clears things up.” Is there a tug at his lips, or is it just the light playing tricks on me? Perhaps I have a concussion and am seeing things. Because I have a feeling that none of this clears anything up.

“Severus, would you kindly let me check on my patient now?” Poppy sounds pissed and Snape is wise to bow his head and let her pass. Never keep a healer from their charge. Probably Snape’s survival instinct kicking in at this point.

Poppy leans down and then to my ultimate horror starts to prod me the same way as Hermione. Before I can protest, because fuck that hurts, she nods to herself.

“Broken rib, possible concussion,” she announces to the crowd that still stands in an eery circle around me, gazing down with morbid curiosity. I can hear some muttering and the occasional cry from some of the girls, but I am beyond caring.

“Listen,” I press out as I pry away the mediwitch’s hands from my torso because if I am not hallucinating- with my injuries I wouldn’t rule it out- Snape just growled. It’s not that I care so much about his emotional constitution, it’s just that my cock is getting interested. “Could you stop poking me and perhaps give me a pain potion, because I am losing it here, woman.”

Poppy huffs and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, _‘you are spending too much time with impossible rude Slytherins’_. Now it’s my turn to growl, low, from deep in my throat. I am in pain, nobody is doing anything besides staring at the spectacle and my mate- _woah. Careful, don’t go there, stop poking the dragon!_ -my bloody mate just stands there and works on his uber-possessiveness.

Perhaps it’s my growl or my pain-distorted face, but Snape springs into action. He pulls out a vial from his coat- _honestly, where does he store all of this stuff in his robe?_ \- and then leans down.

“Stop whining,” he says and before I can tell him to bugger off to where the sun don’t shine, he mimics Astoria of all people and, cradling my head, feeds me the bitter potion. His black eyes are huge above me, seem to grow for some weird reason. He looks like one of those Roswell aliens, distorted, drawing me in. I chuckle as I reach out with one of my hands, clutching his robe.

“You look so weird,” I burst out as soon as I swallowed down the bitter potion. I feel light as a feather as if a gust of wind could let me fly away to wherever. I’d like to visit a tropical island if it’s all the same. I’ve never been abroad, never been to a beach and I want to drink a pina colada. Snape’s mouth is moving, but all I am hearing is the rush of blood in my head, the room spins above me, Hermione’s face blurring into Ron’s, into Astoria’s, into McGonagall’s, into Dumbledore’s and then darkness claims me.

*

The next time I open my eyes it’s still dark outside, I am in the infirmary and next to my bed, on an uncomfortably looking chair sits Snape, snoring softly. His chin has dropped to his chest, one of his hands is spread out next to mine on the crisp sheets. My head still hurts but my side feels much better and I’m likely under the influence of strong pain medication.

My fingers move as without my consent, cup Snape’s, his skin warm to the touch. Again, I feel this soul-consuming content, for no apparent reason at all. I mean, I like the guy, even if he makes it impossibly hard at times, so I could wrap my head around feelings of happiness, butterflies, the heat of a hardening cock but not this. Whatever this is.

_Mate, you called him your mate, yesterday._ Okay, time for a distraction.

Obviously, I suffered from a concussion, so whatever I might have referred to Snape as- _mate, you referred to him as your mate!-_ it doesn’t matter. I hit my head, hard, so clearly, I was spewing crazy things mostly. Remember? Snape looked like an alien? Clearly, the man looks totally normal now. Now stop this insanity and-

_Why would you call him your mate though?_

I call Ron my mate all the time, huh?

_This is different and you know it. I was there when you thought it, it sounded suspiciously like you were alluding to mates as a primary mechanism under which creatures chose their most compatible sexual partner for a lifetime._

Okay, first of all, no, and second, why do you sound suspiciously like Hermione after one of her late-night raids on the library?

_It wasn’t the first time you referred to him as your mate, so as you might remember, you’ve secretly sneaked into the library two weeks ago under nighttime’s protection and looked it up in a book. I think it was called ‘Sexual Evolution- How Magical Creatures Choose Their Mates’. Remember? That’s why you chose the book, cause it had the word mate in the title and you are consistently lazy so you wouldn’t bother to find another source._

Oh, yeah. I remember that. I’d prefer to forget it though.

_You do notice that the textbook referred to magical creatures?_

Not now! I am injured, okay? We’ll deal with it some other time. 

_Which, with you, means never. Okay, I am going to say it, perhaps your weird feelings and the choice of endearment you use are somehow connected and-_ La, la, la, la! Can’t hear ya! La, la, la, la! _You are such a prat! Now, coming back to my theory, there are several creatures to choose from-_

To my immense relief, I hear steps coming closer at that moment and this interrupts the increasingly awkward conversation I am having with myself. Can a concussion cause spontaneous manifestations of schizophrenia? Snape’s physical proximity still provides much-needed comfort, so I am holding on, even if it might be smarter to let go now that someone else is approaching.

The curtains are carefully pulled aside and Poppy steps in, her immaculate white healer robes rustling as she moves closer to the bed. Her gaze falls on where mine and Snape’s hands are interlacing and she just smiles softly when she sees my guilty face.

“As usual privacy charms are in place so no need to be flustered, Mr Potter.” She turns to me and her eyes take in my charts that are continuously spitting out my vitals. “You seem to be doing better, fortunately. You children need to be more careful with stray spells, no matter what noble goals you have. That could have ended much worse than just two broken ribs and a minor concussion.” She clucks and begins to cast a couple of more monitoring spells on me.

“The headmaster explicitly supports our meetings,” I insist, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Poppy replies and sighs. “You all should be excited about Valentine’s Day and not be forced to practice curses in your free time.”

“Times change. In due time most of us will be grateful for this training once we need to defend our world against the darkness.” I avert my face when I see her concerned expression.

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it, Mr Potter.” Her gaze drifts from me to Snape, who is softly snoring again and her face lights up. “I offered him the bed next to you when he insisted on needing to monitor your vital signs himself. Well, at least he gets some sleep for once.” She sighs. “Almost thirty years and not much has changed.”

“What do you mean?” I ask and allow her to prop me up with another pillow in my back. It sounds as if she knows Snape for a long time.

“I’ve been working here at this school for close to forty years now, so I’ve seen it all. I remember your father and his best friend young Master Black being in here on numerous occasions, after one of their little pranks.” She hands me a glass of water and I obediently drink. “I also remember young Severus being here more often than I was comfortable with, mostly the victim of vicious and sometimes humiliating pranks himself.”

I sigh as I rest against the comfortable pillow. Sitting up hurts my two broken ribs but this position halfway between sitting up and lying down it quite comfortable.

“You can say my father’s and Sirius’s pranks,” I say quietly as I watch Snape’s chest rise and fall. “I know they’ve had it in for him.”

“Unfortunately, most of the pranks came from his fellow housemates,” Poppy says as she floats a blanket from my feet over to rest around Snape’s shoulders. He grunts softly but continues to sleep. “Slytherins detest weakness and in their house, it gets stomped out or you die trying. Mind you, they have a very distinct definition of weakness. Loyalty to the wrong people, love for someone from the wrong house, it all paints a target on your back. Severus was rather introverted, perhaps a little snobbish about his undeniable skill in many of his classes, so naturally, that didn’t endear him to most of the students.”

I stare at the sleeping Slytherin as I try to imagine somebody, anybody daring to play pranks on this intimidating figure.

“So, his own house mistreated him?”

“Yes, until it stopped one day. Severus had finally decided to join Mr Malfoy’s gang of little pureblood bullies and like magic, the pranks stopped. Now, if someone played a prank on him, the whole of Slytherin retaliated. It was almost bloodshed at times. Can’t count how often I had to mend bones or heal bruises, and don’t start with anti-jinxes. It was madness for a few years. You could almost hear the whole faculty’s sigh of immense relief when your father’s class finally graduated.” She makes a face as she pours me more water from a pincher. “Of course, no one could envision the horrors of the following years, but at least for a short while my infirmary had a lot less traffic.”

She flicks her wand and the candle on my night table dies out, enveloping the whole infirmary into darkness.

“Now, I suggest you try to get some sleep and if your vitals continue to improve, I can release you tomorrow.” She points to the door to her little office. “I’ll be in my personal quarters, but I have set alarms on the tracking spell, so I will be alerted if you deteriorate.”

I nod and can’t help yawning. I am perhaps more tired than I want to admit, so why not try to get some uninterrupted hours of sleep? I snuggle into my pillows, curl my fingers around Snape’s and drift off into sleep. This night I dream about roaming the Hogwarts’s grounds in the dark of the night, my eyes piercing the blackness to find my prize.

*

Snape is still sleeping when I awake but I make no move to wake him. Instead, I watch our two hands interlaced on the crisp sheets, one pale white, the other slightly tanned and covered with small splashes of ink. Yeah, I am a messy writer. But that’s not where the differences end. The tips of Snape’s fingers are slightly potion stained as if he were brewing potions right before he got alerted about my accident. Which is strange when you think about it. Slughorn is our current potions master, so he should be the one to stock up the infirmary or provide any other needed brews. However, perhaps Snape still likes to experiment with potions, who knows? Or the potions are linked to Dumbledore’s treatment. The headmaster mentioned a new treatment plan improving his overall health, and perhaps it’s due to a potion Snape created.

His potion-stained fingers don’t bother me in the end. They speak of his passion, his empathy and his devotion to not only me but the war in general. What does bother me are the slightly crooked fingers, telling of fractures and the many little scars, so faint they are almost invisible. They cover most of his hand and continue underneath the sleeve of his robe. One of my fingers slides over one particular noticeable one, at the side of his thumb, that disappears into his sleeve. I just hope that none of them, the scars or the broken knuckles, have anything to do with my father or Sirius.

Eventually, Snape stirs and then opens his eyes, that are still sleepy. I can see the shadows staining the skin under his eyes and the painful twitch when his body protests having been forced to sleep in a chair.

“Morning,” I say, keeping my hand where it is. I point to the night table with my chin. “Tea?”

Snape nods, begins to stretch and winces when one of his pulled muscles complains. Sitting up, I pour him a cuppa and watch him as he blissfully has the first caffein of the day. None of us makes any move to extricate our hands as Snape’s empties his teacup and I watch him from under my fringe.

“How are you?” Snape asks when he accepts the second cup from me.

“I’m fine.” It’s true, the rib is giving me no trouble at all and my head feels completely recovered. I am good to return to my regular classes and, most of all, my DA meetings and training sessions.

“Any nausea, headache, blurred vision, diplopia?” he lists.

“Diplopia? What the hell is that?”

Snape grunts. “Double vision. Can be a symptom of further injury beyond just a mild concussion.”

I smile softly. “I think Madame Pomfrey would have caught any of that during the night.” When Snape frowns, I relent. “I am completely fine. A little anxious to get back to my training, a little befuddled, which I assure you is completely normal for me. Ask any of my teachers.” I wink.

“Nevertheless, you should report any unusual symptoms over the coming days.” Snape leans over and peers into my eyes. “Pupils seem to react normally to the light.” He seems to be content until he frowns. “Do you suffer from any mood changes, amnesia? Perhaps balance problems?”

I shake my head, feeling strangely complacent. With anybody else, this would bother me, but for some reason this time it infuses my body with warmth.

“None of that. I am good to go.” I peek out my naked feet and nudge Snape’s side. “No need to fuss.”

Snape’s cheeks flush softly. “Only Poppy can discharge you,” he mutters and averts his gaze. If I had to guess with anybody else, I’d say he’s embarrassed but again, this is Snape, and he’s never embarrassed. I still clutch his hand softly.

“I am just glad you are here,” I say earnestly. “Thanks, for enduring the night in that dastardly chair.”

Snape huffs. “I will regret this for the rest of the week, I am sure.” He winces again as he sits up straight. “Bloody back.”

“I could give you a massage sometime later today,” I offer half in jest and half-serious. I don’t really expect Snape to accept my proposal, but I wouldn’t particularly mind kneading his naked back on his bed, with some scented oil, soft music and perhaps some sparkling wine and strawberries.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Snape replies and looks around as if he expects anybody to jump out of the shadows.

I snort. “Relax, I was just joking. _Unfortunately_.”

I can see I am giving Snape a headache, so I clutch his hand again and then release it when I hear Poppy coming over. By the time she pulls the curtain away, Snape sits upright in his chair, a respectable distance from me.

“Ah Mr Potter, glad to see you up already. How are you today? No lingering headaches?”

I shake my head. “No, totally fine. Professor Snape already listed all the possible complications for a concussion, and we concluded that I am ready to be discharged.”

“Did you?” Poppy looks amused. “Well, then I guess I should trust Severus’ judgement in this, hm?”

Snape presses his mouth tightly together. “As you can see Poppy, Mr Potter is back to his old, tedious self, so I assume it’s safe to let him loose on the rest of the castle again.”

Poppy checks my vitals from the night, seems pleased and then nods. “Well, Mr Potter, you are hereby officially discharged from my care. But keep physical activity to a minimum and absolutely under no circumstances are you allowed near potential hexes and curse for the rest of the week. Understood?”

I frown, my good mood almost gone. “But I have charms and defence glasses, and my tutoring sessions. Ask Professor Dumbledore, he will tell you these tutoring sessions are absolutely necessary.”

“I already talked with the headmaster,” Poppy replies. “He agrees that you are exempted for the rest of the week from quidditch training, practical classes and most importantly all your extra-curricular activities.” When I want to respond, she raises her hand. “I am afraid that is the last word on this matter.”

As I watch her leave, I can’t believe that they have given me a timeout for a week basically. Not even quidditch training. That is so bloody cruel. It also means I won’t see Snape for the rest of the week.

“Don’t worry,” Snape whispers as he passes me, brushing against my shoulder. “We’ll simply have to adapt your training session to something a bit more… _passive_.” He grunts. “I think you owe me a massage, don’t you?”

Well, that didn’t turn out completely awful, didn’t it? At least tomorrow I am going to see Snape again and if the stars align, this massage will lead to something more. And I am sure my head of house will agree that some harmless quidditch training and tutoring won’t harm me one bit.

*

“I am sorry Mr Potter, but this is my last word. It won’t kill you to stay away from the quidditch pitch and the DA meetings for the rest of the week.” McGonagall looks completely unimpressed at my pout. I noticed years ago that my puppy face doesn’t work on her. “Certainly, Ms Granger and Mr Weasley will take over the DA meeting from you for one week. You are dismissed.”

Accepting defeat when it happens is something, I learned ages ago, so I leave her office with the glum expression of a looser.

“And?” Ron waits for me with Hermione outside and obviously, they’ve been snogging. I can see his flushed face and her messy hair.

“I am out for the week,” I grunt. “This is so unfair,” I add sounding like a toddler.

Hermione huffs. “You have so much class reading to catch up on, you’ll be fine.”

Ron throws his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. This is deeply unfair, and it should be your choice if you want to be mowed down by curses in your free time, no?”

“Exactly,” I agree. “So unfair.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Boys.”

“But look on the bright side, mate. You’ll get to massage the git tomorrow.” Ron waggles his brows. “And guess what? Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, so you get to see your beau on cupid’s own holiday.”

That brightens my mood considerably. Hopefully, Snape will be in an agreeable mood and cross my fingers, something more than just a massage is going to play out in his room. I am done with playing coy, this one needs some action. With a big grin, I start into my lunch break, intent on getting some in my next tutoring session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing these scenes where Harry's subconscious is sassy with himself. Seems like we are moving closer to one major plot devise in this story. Can't wait to share the Valentine's chapter with you all- finally some real action for our two fav wizards. Expect it to be posted sometime next week. 😊


	23. Coming out of the Broom Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada, new week, new chapter, and whar a nice, long one this time. Hope you enjoy and stay safe, y'all.

Do you know these dreams that are so delicious, so bone-soaking pleasurable that you want to stay forever, even if you don’t remember any details once you wake up? Yeah, I woke up from such a dream on the morning of Valentine’s Day, my sheets tangled all around me, underneath a delightful warmth as in a cocoon and I instantly want to go back. With closed eyes I drift in the hazy mist between sleep and waking, snuggling into my pillow when I hear it for the first time.

A hoot. And scratching.

Now, I’ve been sleeping in a boys’ dorm for over five years now, so I am certainly used to insistent noises trying to impend my sleep and pretty good in ignoring them. Keeping my eyes tightly closed I try to remember specifics about my dream. It wasn’t one of those, my sheets are not stained, yet I still feel the heavy weightiness of a good wank in my bones. Somehow, I am sure it involved Snape. After all, he promised to let me massage him later today. Well, perhaps rather than a promise, it was just a sneaky way to communicate he’d still expect me at his personal quarters later today, concussion or no concussion. Honestly, this man is a pain to figure out. Layer upon layer of subterfuge.

Outside my closed curtains I can hear Ron starting to stir. He has a routine when he wakes up, has been doing it since our first year. He inhales sharply, then mutters something unintelligible into his pillow and then sneezes. I have absolutely no idea why. The guy isn’t allergic or anything, he just always sneezes when he wakes up. Today the sneeze is particularly forceful, probably waking Dean, who isn’t a very deep sleeper on the best of nights.

The curtains are ripped open with gusto and then Ron’s feet land on the ground with a loud smack. If there’s one thing I detest my best mate for, it’s his vigour shortly after waking up. Ron’s feet shuffle on the floor until they find their pair of slippers and then his bones pop when he stretches.

“Morning, Nev,” I hear Ron say. “Why are you staring at Harry’s- _Woah_. Harry! Wake up! You got to see this!”

I groan but dutifully open my curtain and then everything happens at once. All around my bed, I see dozens of colourful cards hover in the air and in the next moment all of them dart in my direction, several hitting me straight in the face. I utter a very unmanly shriek and fall back, covering my vulnerable face with my arms. I can feel the impact of more and more cards against my torso, my arms and the sheets covering parts of my body. Eventually, the assault stops, and I dare to look up.

My bed and I are completely covered by cards. Some of them play melodies, while others are dancing on my legs. I kick one away in disgust, but it just continues its moves on the floor.

“ _What the hell_!” I mutter as I carelessly rip open one of the cards and to my ultimate horror it starts to transform into a heart made out of roses and belts out a sappy love song. “ _Incendio_!” To my utter satisfaction, the heart bursts into flames and the toe-curling song finally stops.

Looking up at Ron, I find him snickering and even Neville smiles at my no doubt mortified expression.

“You sure got your fair share of Valentines this year,” Ron bursts out as he howls into his pillow. “Bloody brilliant!”

I growl and don’t care that I sound a lot like Snape. “Bloody Brilliant? This is mortifying, Ron!” I groan and lower my head against my hands. “Hopefully, the worst of it is over now. I mean, how many stupid Valentine cards can I get?”

Neville clears his throat, and I am grateful that he tries to sound reasonable. Unlike my traitorous friend who is still giggling into his sheets.

“Ehm, Harry, I think you should probably let in the owls now?” Neville sounds a tad scared. “They can get nasty if you ignore them for too long. One of it once pooped on my head when I ignored it in favour of some more sleep.”

Looking up, I find the whole window covered with hovering owls, who stare at me as if they want to strangle me. Oh, that’s where the hooting came from. To my horror, all of them carry a multitude of more, no doubt extremely sappy Valentine’s cards and I decide to simply not deal with this.

“This is the worst day of my life!” I exclaim as I jump from my bed. Snatching my towel, I point at the window. “I don’t care who deals with this because I’m sure not! This is a piss-poor Valentine’s Day, and I am done with it!”

Without another word, I dart into the bathroom, not the least bit caring that it probably looks like a terrified retreat.

*

Thankfully, once I return from my extended shower where I reimagined my dream about Snape in a very hands-on way, the only sight I see outside the window is the clear blue sky above the Hogwarts grounds. On my bed, all the cards have been disposed somewhere and I really don’t care whether Ron incinerated them or just threw them out of the window- I am only glad they are gone.

Dropping on my bed I look over to my best mate in the world, who is helping himself to some of my pastry stacks from under my pillow. It’s fine, he saved me from those card-monsters that were assaulting me.

“Thanks,” I say as I float over a new pair of socks from my dresser.

Ron smirks. “Always.”

“How did you sort the owls?”

“I opened the window, let them all in- Dean ran out screaming at that point- and then Neville and Seamus helped me accept all the cards and give the poor creatures a snack. They all left after that.” Ron yawns as he takes in my appearance as I put on my socks. “I incinerated all the cards, hope that’s what you had in mind?”

I grunt as I work my way into my first sneaker. “I just wanted them gone,” I mutter into my jeans as I bend down.

“I reckon those won’t be the last ones you’ll encounter today,” Ron says as he puts a flavour bean into his mouth. “Not by a long shot.”

“But why? Why does suddenly the whole school care about me, when they called me a liar only a year ago?” I sound bitter but make no attempt to hide it. At least, Snape was always consistent with his insults and never tried to hide how he felt about me. Even these days, his favourite endearment is calling me a menace or a nuisance.

“Where have you been living these last weeks?” Ron asks with a snort. “You are the hottest thing since Cedric during the tournament.”

“But why?” I ask again, as I step in front of the mirror above my dresser and try to tame my mess of a hair. Without much success. “I’m still the same old person I was last year,” I growl as I tug at my curls. “With horrible hair,” I add as I decide to call it a day with that menace.

Ron appears amused as he gets up and ruffles my hair a bit more. Jerk. He always does this. Must be lovely to have straight hair that always lays flat.

“You are the chosen one, remember?”

I huff. “Brilliant.”

“And since the Prophet does his weekly character assassination of you, you are also a bad boy. In a way, you are the ultimate fusion of heroic celebrity and dangerous.” He flashes me a grin. “If you weren’t so busy with fancying Snape, you’d notice it more.”

I groan. “Oh fuck, Snape!” I sit down again and rest my face in my hands. “That’s not going to end well, Ron, with all these cards.”

Following me down on my bed Ron lays back and crosses his arms over his head. “What about Snape? Why should he care?”

“He’s kind of possessive,” I mutter into my palms.

“Possessive? How so?” Ron sounds puzzled.

I sigh. “He growls and snarls, a bit like a beast at times and I have a feeling he doesn’t like to share.”

Instantly, Ron sits up and gently extricates my face from my hands. “Harry, I thought you two hadn’t done anything.”

“We haven’t,” I say with a shrug.

Ron drags his hands through his hair. “Then I don’t get it, sorry. What kind of ownership does he think he has on you?”

“It’s kind of mutual,” I answer and get up. “I wouldn’t like it myself if he got a ton of Valentine’s cards.” Great, now I feel the need to defend Snape’s behaviour.

Ron snorts. “I guess we can preclude that. No offence, but I reckon Snape would rip someone’s head off if they dared to send him a Valentine’s card. If someone were so inclined,” he adds with a shudder. “Which only suicidal people would be.”

I narrow my eyes. “Their loss. Snape might be an acquired taste but at least he was consistent in his dislike for me.”

Ron raises his hands. “Alright, got it. But you do notice that your behaviour is a tad strange? I mean, if you’d snog the guy on the regular, or had an illicit affair, I’d understand this possessiveness.” He stares at me with a calculating look on his face. “Have you two ever kissed? Or, I don’t know, embraced?”

I blush but stand my ground. “We shared a bed once, after my little breakdown about Snape ghosting me days ago.” I cross my arms over my chest defiantly. “Are you one of those people, who thinks if someone doesn’t shag, they are not allowed to express any feelings? What? Do you think I should just jump him in the great hall, so our feelings are validated?”

“Of course not,” Ron says, and I can see he is as frustrated as me. “I am just wondering where this possessiveness comes from, that’s all. Look, you are entitled to feel what you feel, even about Snape, and I am in your corner, wanting to protect you from any potential harm. That’s how friendships work.” He turns away and grabs his towel to head off into the shower.

I understand I’ve hurt my best friend. I know Ron only wants what’s best for me and so far, apart from the little blunder at the start of the school year, he’s been doing great. Never once did he pull me aside to express his disgust with who I fancy or did not do his best to support me.

“Ron, wait!” I walk over and touch his tensed-up shoulder. “I am sorry,” I start. “I know you’ve been my rock these last weeks and have given me no reason to doubt you. This is just a rotten day that’s only about to get worse, so I’ve been wreaking my frustration on you.”

Ron sighs and turns around. “Likewise,” he replies. “Any other unusual things about you and Snape you’d like to confide?”

“I’m not denying that it’s weird,” I say as I walk to the window. Outside, the grounds are still covered in snow, resting in the peaceful sleep of winter. It will at least take another two weeks until it starts to thaw. “I sometimes even feel as if I know what he’s thinking, you know.” When Ron frowns, I growl. “Isn’t it the same with you and Hermione?”

Now, Ron smirks. “I had to get the biggest Valentine’s card because I explicitly don’t know what she’s thinking 99% of the time.”

I sigh. “Do you feel like she’s your home, like being with her is where you belong, that you never want to leave?”

“That is something I do feel,” Ron says with a soft smile. “I reckon most people who are in love feel the same way.”

I stand there with a frown. People, who are in love? Am I in love with Snape? I mean, I know I fancy him, bloody hell I masturbated in front of him on his sofa, but this is physical attraction. No big deal. It happens. But love means something different. Could I honestly love this complicated, sometimes deliberately unpleasant man? It sounds… ludicrous. I am only sixteen, after all, with, as so many of my Professors like to repeat, my whole life ahead of me. Would I really want to commit to some kind of courtship with Severus Snape? Because, as with so many things in his life, I’d assume he’d take that extremely seriously.

Ron still smiles as he ruffles my hair again. “I’d really like to stay and watch you figure out whether you love the git, but I need to take a shower now if I want to have any chance of breakfast before class.”

Once Ron is gone, I stare on the frozen grounds for the longest time, trying to question my own heart on what its end goal is. I never get a satisfying answer.

*

The day processes in much the same way as it started. I am bombarded with another load of cards at breakfast when the daily owls arrive. This time I don’t even take a look but incinerate each and every one of them, on the breakfast table. McGonagall frowns as she watches, clearly itching to tell me to stop. Not because she cares about the cards, of course, but because she does not like me singing the tabletop. Dumbledore is amused as he watches me set fire to one card after the other, his blue eyes twinkling in the morning sun. At least, the headmaster looks much better these days, with rosy cheeks, a brisk walk and a much more playful attitude. I haven’t decided yet if I like this change in him. Playful and Dumbledore, that sounds like trouble.

Next to Dumbledore and my head of house sits Snape, tightly upright, with a strange twitch in his jaw. It looks as if he is clenching and unclenching his mandible all the time as he faces the room with a thunderous expression. I try to convey to him how much these stupid cards annoy me too, but he rarely catches my eyes. Instead, he seems to glare at several of the giggling girls as if he wants to incinerate them on the spot.

“You were right,” Ron whispers as he leans over. “The git is pissed.”

Hermione follows his gaze to Snape and frowns. “Why would he be- oh.” She sighs. “Well, that’s understandable, Ron.”

“Why? He has no ownership over Harry,” Ron whispers heatedly. “He hasn’t even kissed him yet,” he adds stabbing the table.

I wince. Is my best mate insulted on my accord that I haven’t gotten any action? That sure is awkward. I lean over not wanting to be overheard.

“Guys, I am sitting right here.”

Hermione pats my arm but ignores me otherwise. “So, what?” she hisses back, squishing a mushroom on her plate. “A relationship doesn’t rely on physical intimacy, Ronald. Emotions can be just as powerful.”

“Sure, they can,” Ron says. “But you have to admit this kind of possessiveness is not healthy for a relationship?”

Hermione puffs out some air. “Naturally, but perhaps there’s a good reason for his behaviour? You can’t just go around and judge people for their relationship without knowing any specifics.”

Ron furrows his brows. “Do _you_ know any specifics?”

Hermione flounders for a moment but then just shrugs. “Of course not. I know just as much as you do, but I am not judging our friend’s relationship with Snape, in any way.”

I stare at them and then roll my eyes. “Thanks, I guess.” I finish my tea and then watch three giggling girls coming down the little path between the tables. I groan inwardly as I watch one of them holding out a cupid-formed card, complete with little rose details on it and constantly spouting little red hearts into the air.

“Harry,” she begins and flips he dark hair in a way that clearly is meant to be attractive. It only makes me want to puke. “I could not help to notice you do not have a significant other, so I want to give you this card to express my undying admiration to you.” She falters when I make no move to accept the card, much too busy staring at her in mortification. Like many adolescents I dreamt about being popular at times, but never did I imagine it being so dreadful. She catches herself, smiles at me sultrily and places the card in my lap. I can see now that it is attached to a package of little chocolate cauldrons, that are described on the paper box as ‘certain to whet your appetite’. I just gape at her helplessly, paralysed. Feeling nauseated, I can almost physically sense Snape’s eyes on me, searing imprints of his furious gaze into my skin.

The hall is entirely silent, everyone’s staring at me and the three girls are once again giggling but make no move to leave. My blood roars in my ears and I want to say something, want to throw the stupid card back at her but I can’t. I feel like a microbe under a microscope, vulnerable, helpless, exposed.

Someone not totally unexpected comes to my rescue. Hermione jumps up, points her wand at my lap and then proceeds to incinerate the card and box right on top of my crown jewels. I shriek as the whole thing is set on fire but due to Hermione’s mastery of charms, the spell is neatly contained to its target and does not even singe my pants.

“Romilda,” she says in a cold tone of voice. “This is entirely inappropriate. This all-“ she says and looks into the dead silent hall. “is entirely inappropriate. If any of you dares to send another one of those untimely cards, I swear I’m going to hex you into the next school year!”

Ron rises as well, towering over all of us and his features for once completely serious.

“I would not take my girlfriend’s threat lightly,” he says and Hermione blushes. “She is vicious like that.”

He pulls me up and then we start to move out of the hall. Behind us, I can hear the hall explode into chatter, and somewhere in between, I hear McGonagall’s voice booming.

“You alright?” Hermione asks once we are outside.

I nod. “Yeah, I think so. This is so mortifying,” I say leaning against the wall. My legs feel like jelly, barely able to keep me upright.

“Ignore them,” Hermione says with a baleful expression. “Hopefully, that taught them a lesson. Now we go to class and with a bit of luck by tonight this has all cooled down.”

Part of me knows this is not over by far, but I still nod obediently and follow my two best friends to our first class.

*

I’ve never been forced to use so many secret shortcuts, hidden tunnels behind tapestries during the day than on this cursed Valentine’s day. Of course, I could have gotten my invisibility cloak but that would have felt too much like defeat. So, I dodge other students in my lunch break and find myself accidentally on the second floor. I ran up a flight of stairs when I saw a group of giggling second-years turning around a corner. Now, I doubt they wanted to give me another card but it’s the principle of things.

The hallway is deserted and my heart calms down again. Boy, once this dreadful day is over, I am going to keep my invisibility cloak on me all the time. Next to me, a door is suddenly ripped open and strong arms pull me inside a dusty broom closet. It smells in here, like old wood and broom polish and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness.

Above me towers a colossus of a man, the only thing I can make out in the darkness is a pair of slightly glowing eyes. His arms grip my shoulders like iron locks, pressing into my flesh. Bending down, he growls and then his scents assault me. Before he opens his mouth, I know it’s Snape.

“What are you playing at?” he hisses into my neck and then I can feel something warm and moist dab my skin. Tongue, Snape just used his tongue to what? Taste me? 

Swallowing hard, I try to sound less like a petrified dear, but rather more than the predator I want to be.

“Snape, what are you talking about?” I ask, surprised when my voice is clear and steady. I stare at the side part of his head that I see, parts of his skull pressed against my cheek. His scent is overpowering from this close and I can feel my cock harden.

Snape’s lips are ghosting over my sensitive neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake and then I can feel the tip of his nose as he inhales. As if on their own accord my hands move up into Snape’s silky hair, pushing and pulling in turn as I try to make up my mind what I want. Parts of me, the impatient, aroused majority, wants to pull him up and devour him, then sink to my knees and get my lips on his throbbing cock, but the other part of me wonders why Snape acts so unlike himself. Perhaps, it’s best to protect him from himself for now?

Snape’s tongue dabs at my skin, underneath my aorta, is throbbing as if it begs for Snape’s attention. Snape growls again and then closes his lips around my pink skin, sucking right on my artery. My legs give out, but Snape’s arms keep me upright, by now no longer choking my shoulders but protectively closing around my torso. I groan when he places his thigh between my legs, pressing against my pulsing groin.

Eventually, and far too soon for my taste, Snape releases my neck and then when my eyes catch him, I cup his cheeks as I press my lips against his. Shortly, he hesitates but then there is pressure back, as I am pulled tightly against his body. My feet lose connection with the ground as he hauls me into the air and then I can feel the tip of his tongue, begging for entrance. I instantly relent, my lips open and our tongue meet for a deadly duel for domination. I give as good as I get, feeling as if a part of me comes to life for the first time, a wild, feral part that is elated at having secured my mate.

In the silence of the cupboard, the only sounds that can be heard are our lips mashing together, the noise of our two bodies rubbing against each other and the feral sounds of snarling and panting. I am so hard, desperate for release that I begin to make little noises of despair until Snape takes pity on me. He rests me against the back wall of the room and positions himself so our cocks, both rock hard, begin to grind against each other. His lips trail from my lips down my jaw back to my neck, leaving me exposed as I grunt and moan nearing my orgasm. I had them before, plenty of them but none of them felt like this earthshattering eruption, this feeling of impending undoing. I am scared, unsure what is going to happen to me because surely it will rip me apart only to remake me into something new. But for nothing in this world would I stop, as I press my neck into Snape’s mouth. I want him to rip my skin, to tear into my flesh, to consume all I am because here is where I belong.

“Mine,” snarls Snape as he presses his teeth into my flesh, but they are not nearly sharp enough to pierce my skin. I nonetheless enjoy the friction as I feel my body getting ready to explode. Then, with one last thrust against each other, we almost simultaneously go rigid, only to then burst into a thousand pieces, remaking both of us into each other at the same time. It feels as if I stop breathing for a moment, die only to be reborn in the next instant, as my cock spurts my come into my pants.

It takes both of us several minutes to come down enough, so we are aware again of our surroundings. My sight is hazy, even so, I am wearing my glasses as I am gently placed back on the ground. Snape evades my gaze, instead, with a flick of his wand we both are cleaned. As he lets me go, I feel empty, forlorn, for that new fledgeling I was reborn as, needs its master.

When he does turn to look at me, I can see guilt in his eyes, shame. This man regrets what happened, not because he thinks it wrong but because he fears the consequences. Snape opens his mouth as if to say something but then closes his lips with a snap. Before I can say one word, he turns around and leaves the cupboard.

*

It takes me another five minutes before I dare to leave myself, finally having regained some of my bearings. The corridor is still as deserted as before, and I walk in the opposite direction of my dorm. I need a little time for myself before I can face inquisitive Hermione. She’ll know straight away something’s happened, and I need to sort my thoughts before I can endure an interrogation.

I pass doors of classrooms and several paintings before, just like a déjà vu, another door, this time to one of the classrooms is opened and I am pulled inside. To my utter shock, I find myself with none other than my mortal enemy, Death Eater Draco Malfoy. I instantly raise my shoulders and sneer at him.

“What the hell?” I have my wand out at the same time as Draco, both of us staring at each other. “If this is an ambush, it’s a poor one,” I snarl.

Malfoy smirks but lowers his wand just the tiniest bit. He looks exactly as he has done the last weeks, with dark shadows under his eyes and thinner than I can ever remember him. He still wears his adorned, no doubt expensive robes and around his wrist, I see a silver bracelet with a scarlet ruby. When Malfoy notices my gaze, he instantly hides it under his sleeve.

“No need to piss your pants, Potter,” he says icily. “I am just here to offer a fair warning.” He clearly looks as smug as always, probably expecting me to fall to my feet in gratitude. Fat chance.

“I don’t need your feckless warning, Malfoy,” I reply, narrowing my eyes. “Get lost before I start to demonstrate how we deal with traitorous Death Eater scum.”

Malfoy purses his lips but doesn’t take my bait. “Stay away from Snape if you know what’s good for you Potter,” he says and in return, I slam him into the wall.

“No, you’ll stay away from him!” I hiss into his haughty face. “If you just dare to touch Snape, you are dead! You hear me, Malfoy?”

“Loud and clear,” Malfoy replies coolly. “I know you have this weird thing going on, but you have no idea what you’re dealing with. You are playing with something beyond your kin.”

My anger is instantly replaced by fear. Malfoy is not supposed to know about me and Snape, so I need to convince him of our mutual hatred.

“There is no weird thing going on,” I say coldly. “Everyone knows Snape hates me and believe me, the feeling is mutual. You Death Eaters are all the same,” I bark at him. “I know what you are up to Malfoy,” I hiss as I lean closer. “How you are set up to fail by your master for your father’s ineptitude.”

Satisfied, I see his face contort in anger as he pushes me against my shoulders. “Yeah, I know what you are up to in the evenings as well, the feeble attempt to teach those shits how to defend themselves. One cannot uphold against the inevitable, Potter.”

I scoff. “Your master is not inevitable, you’ll see soon enough when I crush him under my boot. Reckoning is at hand and all of you will be judged mercilessly.”

Malfoy snorts without any humour. “Not all of us have the privilege of doing what we please, but what would you know about this? Always pampered by Dumbledore, cheered on by your own harem of fans. For some of us, there are other things to consider.”

I shrug. “Whatever. If you are done, I’ll have a class to attend.”

“Ah yes, defence.” Malfoy pulls a face. “I’d assume you won’t see Snape for a while.” He pushes past me only to turn at the door. “Do with my warning what you will. I heard you Gryffindors love to brawl like wild beasts so Snape’s right up your alley.”

*

Due to Malfoy’s interruption, I am a tiny bit late for defence but to my surprise, Snape is nowhere to be seen.

“Where have you been?” Hermione asks as she takes in my appearance. “You look flustered.”

I flop down and get out my defence book. “I am fine, I took a nap.” Looking around I point towards Snape’s empty desk. “Where’s Snape?”

Ron shrugs. “No idea. Wasn’t here when he arrived. Perhaps just late.”

I open my mouth to say something in return when McGonagall steps into the room, gesturing for our attention.

“I am afraid Professor Snape is indisposed today, so please turn to the chapter on shield charms and study quietly for the duration of your class. I am going to supervise you for the time being.”

I cast a glance at Hermione as I dutifully open my book to the seventh chapter. “Indisposed?”

Hermione shrugs as she starts to take notes. “Perhaps something came up. Could be anything.”

Ron nudges me. “You’ll see him tonight,” he reminds me with a smirk. “You can fuss about him then.”

I nod but it hard to concentrate on my reading. Hopefully, Snape is fine but if he isn’t, I am going to find out tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I constantly add new tags when needed, so please pay attention to that. I wouldn't want any of you to read something and feel like it crept up on you. Not sure, if these days polyamory is still considered problematic by some (hopefully not), but yeah, wanted to mention it. Not Harry and Snape, those two stay exclusive, but this story will include other relationships as well. 
> 
> As always, thanks for the lovely comments and kudos.


	24. Penal codes and how to break them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one took a little longer than usual but I had a nasty cold (thankfully no Corona). Here is the next chapter, hope you enjoy. Stay safe please, all of you! 💜

I barely make it through dinner, ignoring most of the shenanigans around me and only listening to Neville with half an ear. I am surprised to hear he spends more and more time with Ginny and Luna, but not interested enough to really engage with the conversation. At one point he looks at me as if he needs validation and I wrack my mind remembering what he just said.

_“Do you reckon it’s fine to spend so much time with two girls at once? I mean, weren’t you interested in Ginny once? Perhaps I should just give both of them some space? What do you think?”_

Finally ripping my gaze away from the empty spot at the high table where Snape was supposed to sit, I turn to one of the most courageous wizards my age I know. Neville asks for so little most of the time, so I owe him a proper answer.

“First of all, Neville, Ginny and I are friends,” I start, literally seeing the tension melt from his face. “I don’t think either of us is interested in the other beyond that. And second, why do you ask me? If you are unsure about whether Ginny and Luna are okay with it, just ask them. That’s what relationships are all about. Constant communication and consent.” I can see Neville listening intently as he tries to memorize my every word. I smirk. “This particular nugget of wisdom has been shared with me by Hermione and she’s usually pretty smart about these kinds of things. Anyways, I have a feeling both Luna and Ginny are the kind of girls who would let you know if things aren’t cool with them. If you are really worried, just talk to them.”

Neville considers my words and then a big smile appears on his face. “Thanks, Harry, that’s really helpful. I guess I put that into action right away,” he says, looking up the table to find Ginny smiling at him. “Excuse me,” he says, and I watch him as he approaches the two girls, and they move apart so he can sit between them. Well, that’s certainly an unexpected development, the way they huddle together, and I can hear Luna’s bright laughter as she takes Neville’s and Ginny’s hand in hers.

“Interesting, that,” Ron mentions as he slowly finishes his third serving of pudding. “Young people these days,” he says with a smirk.

I snort. “Neville is our age, and the two girls are only a year younger but yeah, go ahead and sound like an old man yelling at the sky.”

“Hey, I am happy for Neville,” Ron says as he helps himself to another glass of juice. “I’d honestly never expected it, but it’s none of my business in the end.”

I furrow my brows. “Wow, that sounds almost… grown-up. Didn’t you get a howler from your mother when you tried to police your sister’s love life, by any chance?” I am just teasing him of course, we all remember the very loud howler the day after. After all these years and many howlers along the way, this one didn’t even stop Ron from eating his cereal.

Ron whacks me on the shoulder and smirks when I choke on my tea. “I guess we all did some growing up this year,” he says with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “My new motto is live and let live.” When I gape at him, he shrugs. “Makes life with both my mother and my girlfriend ten times easier. For all I care, Ginny could be in a relationship with half the people in this hall, and I wouldn’t mind.”

“Even Slytherins?” I ask as I continue to tease my best friend.

Ron shrugs. “Obviously not Malfoy, but my sis is not stupid or suicidal. But we spent the last weeks preparing the defence of our world with some of them, so why not?”

“How about…” I look up at the high table. “Flitwick?” Our charms professor is currently chatting with the headmaster animatedly, his goblet swooshing through the air above his head, sloshing wine everywhere.

“Why, cause he’s small? He’s smart though, we Weasleys could use an infusion of smart into our family tree if you’ll ask me.” Ron picks a small piece of turkey from Hermione’s plate. Our bushy-haired friend has her head in a book, ignoring both of us wholeheartedly.

“Live and let live, huh?” I grin.

“Exactly.” Ron finishes his tea. “Much easier that way.”

“You are a peculiar man, Ronald Weasley,” I say as I stretch my arms over my head. “You’re lucky we became friend way back. These days you’d be too weird for me to befriend.”

“Likewise.” Ron winks and leans over. “You are leaving for your date with Snape, right?” he asks as he watches me snatch my satchel.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not a date, it’s my training session. Big difference.”

Ron nods mock-seriously. “Of course, you two are strictly acquainted in a professional manner of speaking.”

Now it’s my turn to smack him on the back. “Exactly.” Looking at Hermione, who’s still immersed in her book, I frown. “Do you know what she’s reading? She’s been at it for days now?”

Ron shrugs. “No idea, but we want to take a walk under the moonlight later,” he says with a big, honest smile.

I clap him on the back again, much gentler this time. “Sounds lovely. Have fun, you two.”

*

The dungeons are pretty crowded with many of the Slytherins returning from the great hall, but I manage to avoid most of them. I pass Astoria, who winks at me in conspiration but otherwise keeps on walking with another redhead from Slytherin. The girl, Guinevere, joined us in our second meeting, and I remember she has a particular fondness for shield charms.

I turn a corner and arrive in the deserted, cobwebbed corridor that leads to Snape’s private rooms. My hands are clammy and wet as I near the dark wooden door with the engraved silver serpent. I am nervous, for more than just one reason. Snape’s and my relationship, already complex and baffling, has been turned into an enigma. The incident in the broom cupboard is embedded not only in my mind but also in the toothmarks on my neck, but yet feels so unreal, as if it was just a super-realistic dream. True to form, Snape descends on me with his teeth and lips and snarls and then, instead of dealing with any of it, simply turns and leaves. It’s infuriating and hight time I make it clear, I won’t accept this kind of behaviour any longer.

Bracing my shoulders, I curtly knock on the door. I can hear soft voices and then steps until eventually the door is opened wide enough so I can take a look into the sitting room. In the doorway stands Byron, dressed in a casual pair of jeans. His brown hair flows down his back today, framing his sharp features and strong jaw.

“Oh, hello Harry,” he greets me leaning casually against the doorframe. “Lovely evening today, isn’t it?” He grins. “So full of promises.”

His voice is as usual deep and could be considered almost friendly, as we were two old friends conversing about the weather. However, there is nothing friend-like between us. I peer into the room and find it empty.

“I am here to see Snape,” I say icily, not bothering to return the greeting.

Byron still smiles as his eyes trail down my body, to land on my old, worn pair of sneakers. “Ah yes, Sev informed me about your…” he pauses, his eyes rising back to take in my face. “meeting. I am afraid, he is indisposed tonight.”

Again, this word. Indisposed. What does it even mean? I decide there and then that I am done with this charade and use the momentum of surprise to push past Byron into the room.

“Snape?” I yell into the direction of the bedroom. “Snape, are you here?”

Byron is at my side but makes no move to touch me. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says politely.

I turn to him for a moment. “Yeah? Try to stop me then!” I can see his arm twitch, as if he wants to do just that, maybe pull me back and kick me out of Snape’s quarters but instead he makes a step to block the door to the bedroom.

“Please Harry, come back tomorrow,” he says but as I walk around him, again makes no move to physically stop me.

I cross the room, push open the door and for a few moments my eyes have to get used to the darkness. Light is almost eerily absent from this room, only scarlet runes on the floor glowing in the blackness. As I step inside, I can make out a strange scent, it smells like decaying flesh in here. Alarmed, I walk up to the bed and find Snape, his eyes open, staring unfocused into the space above him. There are more runes on the sheets and as I reach the side of the bed, the stench of copper drifts into my nose.

_Blood, these runes are made of blood_. I crawl onto the bed and gently place my trembling hand on Snape’s naked torso. His flesh is burning hot as if he’s feverish. On his torso, that’s littered with small scars, all old and white, are more of those runes, glowing eerily in the darkness,

“Snape,” I whisper but he doesn’t react, just continues to stare at the ceiling. His eyes are darting from side to side as if following some imaginary movement in the blackness of the room. “Snape,” I repeat, more urgently this time.

This time I get a reaction, just not necessarily the one I desired. Snape groans, deep in his throat and then, still unnervingly rigid like a corpse, he sits up and turns his eyes towards me. There is the same disconcerting glow in them as he stares through me, his eyes darting once again from left to right.

“That’s enough,” Byron says from the door and then, I find myself back in the sitting room again, without a spell, without a wand, without even the typical side-effects of apparition or a portkey.

The door to the bedroom closes, and then more red shimmering runes appear on the dark wood. Even I understand the way is sealed for me now, I won’t have a chance to go back. Angrily, I turn towards Byron, who has strolled over to Snape’s armchair and gracefully sits down.

“What have you done to him?” I ask, seething with rage. I never trusted the other man, but now I am certain he has somehow harmed Snape.

Byron raises a brow. “Me? Nothing he hasn’t asked for, of course.” He takes a tumbler filled with firewhiskey and takes a careful sip. “Perhaps you’d like a glass to calm your nerves?” he asks, once again in that calm, polite tone that frays on my every nerve.

I fist my hands as I try to keep from pouncing him. “Let him go! Right now!”

“I’m afraid, I can’t,” Byron says, looking troubled with this thought. I don’t believe it for a minute, everything about this is fake. Only the zombie-like Snape in the next room is real and I want to claw my way to him, to protect him from this uncaring monster of a man.

“I understand your sentiment, however, I can’t allow that,” Byron says, blatantly reading my mind. Must be another Legilimens. “You should leave, Harry, now that you made sure Snape is alive and well.”

I take a step forward. “Alive and well? You mean you turned him into some kind of freaky zombie?” Byron holds my angry gaze with ease as I seethe in fury. “You know what? I am going to the headmaster right now! I’ll report what you’ve done and make sure that someone rescues Snape from your clutches!”

“Do that,” Byron answers undisturbedly. “You can’t keep the tides from rolling, it’s like wanting to stall the sun’s movement with your bare hands. Useless, and most importantly, painful.”

Again, more mocking as I stare longingly at the locked door. _Perhaps, I could try to distract Byron, cast a stupefy or even an imperio to get him to open the door for me._ Every part of me feels this strong need to defend what’s mine and at that moment, Snape is mine.

“Now you are getting silly,” Byron says chuckling. “Mates. It’s almost amusing what you come up with at times.”

_Possibly I need to use darker curses if I want to protect Snape. I could try the cruciatus curse again. What did Bellatrix say last year? You’ll have to mean it? Well, I sure do today._ Part of me feels even ready for the darkest of curses, such is the fury coursing through my body.

Byron is still sitting in his armchair but now looks slightly alarmed. “You might just be stupid and careless enough to try,” he mutters into his drink. “Of course, none of it would work, but he’ll kill me if you were to come to harm.” Looking up, he narrows his eyes. “Come back tomorrow, Harry. You can’t help him tonight.”

And without a blink, without any sensation at all, I’ll find myself in front of Snape’s door, outside in the dusty corridor, the snake gleaming dark red for a moment. I stare at the wooden door, feeling so helpless until I remember the headmaster. Surely, he’ll be able to free Snape from this monster? I cast a quick tempus and then head toward the upper levels of the castle. I’ll likely find him in his office, drinking his abysmally sweet tea and doing Merlin knows what.

*

The gargoyle moves away as soon as I get close and I hop on the revolving staircase. Upstairs, I find the door to Dumbledore’s office open and inside a warm fire flickers in the hearth. Fawkes sits on his perch, singing as he sees me. Somehow, these familiar sights and sounds ground me as I feel like I stepped out of the twilight zone. In here, things are as they should be.

“Ah Harry,” Dumbledore says from his sofa to the side. “I’ve been expecting you, my boy. Come, have a cup of tea with me.”

I decide to not bother with the usual shenanigans, of Dumbledore offering me tea, me refusing only to end up drinking some of that blasted beverage in the end. Tea-drinking is a powerplay for this old wizard, a way he dominates people by forcing his syrupy concoction on everybody, from the minister of magic to Lucius Malfoy to me. Instead, I inhale and then let my anger loose.

“You have to help me! Byron has done something to Snape and keeps him trapped inside his quarters!” I say as I point to the door accusingly, my blood rushing in my ear. “Please, you’ll need to rescue Snape before Byron finishes his nefarious deed!”

Dumbledore sips from his cup and looks at me thoughtfully. “Nefarious deeds? Harry, I think there has been a misunderstanding. Byron is here because I invited him.”

I stalk over to tower over to the headmaster, who looks completely unconcerned. “Have you seen what he’s done with him? Snape looks like a zombie, covered in bloody runes.”

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Dumbledore replies, sipping from his tea. “I am surprised Byron let you in, but then again he is impossible to understand at times.” When he sees my furious expression, Dumbledore gently places a hand on my arm. “You must believe me when I say Severus is in no danger right now. In fact, whatever happens down there, was done with his full consent. There is no need and no benefit to your fury right now.”

I can see the honesty in his eyes and just know he’s not lying to me. But Byron is a scheming lad, I don’t put it past him to fool the headmaster.

“I don’t trust him,” I mumble as I sit down and dutifully accept the warm cup of tea. Probably full of calming draught. I still sip from it, almost gagging from the sweetness. I miss the strong bergamot tea I used to drink in Snape’s quarters.

“Yes, you made that perfectly clear,” Dumbledore says good-humouredly. “Might I ask why?”

“He’s dangerous,” I mutter into my tea darkly. “Clearly, he’s up to no good.”

“Clearly.” Dumbledore chuckles softy. “It funny, Severus used the term several times referring to you. But he came to see how wrong he was, just as I think you’ll come to see that Byron serves his purpose.”

“What purpose?” _Of ruining my day?_

Dumbledore leans back and balances his cup on his armrest as he steeples his fingers. The bandage is gone, and the withered hand looks a little less decayed. Perhaps, Snape’s treatment is working.

“Of winning this war, of course,” Dumbledore says kindly. “I rely on Severus, and Severus needs Byron right now. We all fight for the same thing, for defending our world against the impending darkness.”

“Byron doesn’t strike me as the kind of man that particularly cares about our world or us,” I say as I stab my finger into the sofa. “You might trust him, but I don’t.” When Dumbledore only hums, I growl. “Did you know he can teleport people without the usual side-effects and read minds?”

Dumbledore nods. “He certainly is an interesting person, with unique abilities. That’s why Severus wanted him here, that’s why he is useful to us right now. I am not saying, he supports our endeavours, but people like Byron see the world differently than us. And with the change in perspective, comes a different set of priorities.” Dumbledore takes in my unhappy face. “One of these priorities is making sure Severus is unharmed. In this particular moment, his priorities align with ours. I don’t trust Byron per se, but I trust his priorities, as should you.”

“You didn’t see him,” I say and run my hand through my hair. “Snape looked dreadful.”

“You weren’t supposed to see him tonight,” Dumbledore chides me kindly. “I am surprised Byron didn’t stop you.”

I rub my arms suddenly cold in the air warmed by the fire. “It was strange, he never even touched me. Probably thinks I am too insignificant.”

“Didn’t touch you, hm? Well, that’s certainly interesting. Another puzzle piece in this mystery.”

That’s probably one way to see it. For Dumbledore so many things are mysteries to solve, plans to scheme, affairs to meddle in. It doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person, just complex. Snape is right, we are lucky his goals align with ours.

“So, I take it you are not going to do anything?” I ask, feeling dejected. If Dumbledore doesn’t stop Byron, there’s nothing I can do about it.

Dumbledore seems to consider this. “No. I have it on good authority that by tomorrow morning Severus will be back to his old self and will resit your training session in the evening.”

I huff. “On what authority would that be? Byron’s?”

“Severus’s actually,” Dumbledore says with a smile. “He was here shortly after the lunch break to report your encounter… in a broom closet if I am not mistaken?”

I can’t help it, I flush down to my neck and want to wrap my arms around my torso. I’d never considered I might discuss my sexual activities with Albus Dumbledore, of all people.

The headmaster pads my arm. “Don’t worry, I am not privy to any details, but Severus agrees with me that such behaviour needs to wait until you are no longer a student here. I can’t condone any sexual relations between one of my faculty and a student, I’m afraid. The activities of tonight are supposed to make it easier for him to refrain and vice versa.”

I swallow down my uneasiness and face Dumbledore’s gaze. It’s surprisingly gentle as he takes in my embarrassment.

“I am aware how uncomfortable talking about these matters must be for you,” he says with a wink. “We don’t have to say anything more about it. But please Harry, trust me and by tomorrow, everything should be back to how it was.”

*

Outside, I lean against the wall as I try to make up my mind. One, very insistent part of me wants to run back down to Snape and somehow force my way into his bedroom. The other part decides to trust Dumbledore for now. Never Byron, but the headmaster wouldn’t risk Snape’s life, so perhaps this whole blood and zombie thing is actually good for something. I can’t think of anything, but Snape is way smarter than me and he consented. In the end, I end up trusting Snape to know what’s good for him.

*

As anticipated, I don’t get much sleep this night. I toss and turn and eventually fall into a restless sleep, until I wake up from a particularly disturbing dream, involving Snape and Byron having sex in my blood. I gasp as I sit up and stare into the still dark room.

The image from my dream forces little sparks of pain through my body, twisting my insides as I swing my legs out of bed.

Bloody hell. Since Snape kissed me, I am a mush of emotions, constantly wondering, considering what Snape is currently doing and knowing that Byron is with him, doesn’t help at all. I am willing to trust the headmaster, that the mysterious stranger won’t hurt Snape, but what if he takes advantage of the fact that Snape won’t put up much of a fight right now?

I grind my teeth, the thought alone impelling my rage. _He can’t touch what’s mine._ Not when I didn’t have a chance to talk with Snape about what the hell happened in this broom closet and why the fuck it scares him so much. Is kissing me so revolting that he needs to ensure it never happens again?

Releasing some tension with a loud huff, I place the soles of my feet on the wooden ground. I can’t possibly wait any longer, I need to see Snape now, make sure he’s back to his old self again. I just know that once I see him, can talk to him, this constant aching in my chest will stop.

In record speed, I change into a pair of sweatpants and some trainers and then head down to the dungeons. I have no idea how late or early it is, the only indication the blown-out lights in the corridor. It must be way past midnight then as I follow the empty corridors and stairs I know by heart. My heart is thrumming away in my chest as if it wants to force open the cavity from the inside. Snape's hallway is as usual empty and deserted and the door remains closed to me.

Instead of knocking I sit down on the cold stone floor on the other side of the corridor and decide to wait. I don’t care how long it takes, I just can’t wait in my own bed any longer. Minutes go by and turn into hours, by I stay at my spot, listening to the sound of the castle waking up. Eventually, the door opens and out comes… not the man I wanted to see. Byron looks as always, handsome and dangerous as he turns to leave. He doesn’t seem to notice me but when he passes my hiding spot, he chuckles.

“Mates,” he says, sounding strangely amused as if I am a cute little pet niffler, that has shown one of his tricks. I watch him disappear into the darkness of the hallway before I get up and knock at Snape’s door.

It takes exactly eighteen seconds till the door is opened and Snape’s tired but completely un-zombielike face looks a little resigned when he sees me. I don’t care, I am just so bloody happy to see him, that I jump him. Fortunately, Snape catches me as if I weigh nothing and as he closes his arms around me, so not to drop me, I wrap my arms around his neck.

Snape stumbles back, catches himself and then sighs. “Potter,” he mutters as he closes the door with soundless, wandless magic. “You can’t do that out there,” he adds as he walks to the sofa, expecting me to let him go.

That’s not what I want, so hold on and nuzzle his neck. “So good,” I say as I press my nose against Snape’s skin.

Snape sighs again but makes no effort to drop me or argue, instead, he sits down himself, draping me all over his body in the process. I can’t say I particularly mind and dare to brush my lips over his delectable skin.

“Honestly, Potter, is that how it’s going to be? You just pounce and then assault me every time we meet?”

I nod happily and hear Snape sigh for the third time in under a minute. This physical comfort, the evidence of him being okay, is what settles my stomach, calms my beating heart and fills me with so much happiness, that I am almost giddy.

“This can’t happen when we are outside,” Snape says intently as he forces me to look at him. “Promise me that!” He sounds almost desperate and so I raise my hand, cup his cheek and nod, grinning madly.

“Can’t happen outside,” I repeat and see some of the tension leave Snape’s posture. “Only in here.”

“I’d prefer it if we could try to keep some distance,” Snape says but sounds surprisingly unconvinced. As if he feels it’s what he is supposed to say, not necessarily what he wants.

“Forever?” I pout. “You kissed me.”

It’s a delightful sight to see Snape’s cheek flushing again as he swallows hard. “I apologize,” he says quietly.

Well, that’s not what I want. “Snape, in case it was in any way unclear, I enjoyed what happened in that closet,” I say with sincerity. “I don’t want you to feel bad about it or apologize, I want to do it again,” I smirk. “Preferably in your bed and all night.”

“Absolutely not.” Snape pushes me- rather gently- so that I slide off him and then moves a couple of inches away so that there is a respectable distance between us. “The headmaster made it abundantly clear that he expects us to uphold the Hogwarts Penal Code.”

“What’s that?” I ask as I inch carefully closer again. I won’t be deterred by this stupid Penal code, whatever that is.

“The rules governing faculty behaviour at this school,” Snape says and moves further away. “The one I signed when I started working here.”

“I didn’t sign anything,” I insist and once again close the distance between us.

“Perhaps it’s not so much the Penal Code that applies to you but the general school rules, which also clearly state that fraternization between teachers and students is strictly forbidden.” Snape shifts again and has finally reached the end of the sofa.

“Fraternization? Is that what you call it, hm?” I ask and finally reach Snape, only to start to climb his lap again. I feel hot and tight and determined to get what I need.

“It’s what the Penal Code calls it,” Snape argues, as I start to nuzzle his neck again. “Stop that, Potter,” he says with almost no force at all. It sounds almost timid, vulnerable and as if he is completely at my mercy. It’s this tone that acts as a surge of cold water and sobers me.

I stare up at him, can see a vein violently pulsing at the side of his head, and his dilated pupils as he stares back at me.

“I missed you,” I admit but slide back next to him, only keeping my face against his chest. “You scared me, when you were in that zombielike state, with those blood runes all over you…- “

“You saw me?” Snape cries, sounding outraged.

“Byron let me in,” I explain as I press my face into Snape’s rough cotton robe. If I can’t have what I really want, at least I need to be close to him.

“He wasn’t supposed to let you see me,” Snape says quietly as he closes his arms around me in reluctance.

“It was scary,” I say looking up, catching a notion of guilt on his face. “So glad you are back to your old self again,” I mutter into his chest.

Snape sighs. “Do you plan on falling asleep on my sofa now, using my chest as a pillow?” When I simply nod, he brushes his hand through my hair. “Then I must let the headmaster know that my first class needs to be cancelled.” I simply nod again, perfectly happy to be where I am.

Before Snape has exchanged the first few words with the headmaster through the floo network, I am already fast asleep. I have a good night's sleep to catch up on, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise loads of smut next chapter 😉 those two had it coming, I am sure.


	25. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the smut we've all been waiting for. Our boys deserve it, as do you my esteemed readers. Enjoy.

When I wake up, I am safely ensconced in the warmth of a thick blanket and all around me is Snape’s scent, pervading my body through my nose. However, the man himself is no longer with me. Careful not to peel the blanket off, I sit up and to my relief discover Snape at his desk, once again grading papers. His head is lowered over the parchment as he adds his no doubt scathing remarks in his long, elegant handwriting that might just be a tad spidery. The sun in his back is giving him a halo effect around his black tufts of hair.

“Do you ever do anything else?” I ask as I begin to stretch languidly. The blanket drops from my shoulders as I pull out any leftover tension from the night. Damn, Snape’s couch is not the most comfortable bedstead, I’d much prefer to sleep in the guy’s bed.

Snape looks up and his gaze lingers on my waist, where my shirt is riding up and revealing parts of my stomach.

“If you don’t keep up with it, it drowns you eventually,” he says, forcing his eyes away from my exposed flesh. “Did you sleep well?” I am sure Snape tries to sound sarcastic, but it ends up appearing honest and concerned.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” I reply done with my morning stretch and sit up properly. “Any chance you have something to eat or a cup of tea?”

Snape points towards the bell coming down from the ceiling next to the fireplace. “Ring that and you get some sandwiches. I am afraid breakfast is long over.”

I shrug and pad over to the bell. It is completely silent as I shake it but almost instantly a plate with sandwiches and a steaming pot of tea appears on the coffee table.

“I don’t care as long as I get something to eat.” I pour two cups and then walk over to Snape, placing one of the cups on the table. “Here.”

“Thank you.” Snape, already busy grading parchments again, takes a sip from the steaming tea. “You slept much longer than I anticipated.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I say and step around the table to lean against the side of the desk while I am sipping from my steaming tea. In the chilliness of the dungeon, the warmth spreading through my body is appreciated.

“I see.” Snape keeps his eyes down, pretending to be immersed in his grading. His jaw clenches as he slaps the grade on the paper. Troll. Poor sod.

“Indeed,” I reply and pushing a couple of parchment to the side, hop onto the desk, dangling my feet off the side as I watch Snape. His fingers curl around his quill a little tighter as he keeps grading, ignoring me. I sigh. “I am bored.”

“That’s really not my concern,” Snape mutters as he rolls up one of the parchments and stashes it with the others. “There’s a whole school filled with people your age out there, or you could do the unthinkable and attend one of your classes. I’m sure some of your teachers have forgotten how annoying you can be, with your many recent absences.”

“I don’t want to leave,” I say as I wiggle around until I am sitting with my feet towards Snape, who’s still paying no heeds to me. “I want you to entertain me.”

Snape’s hand freezes and now he looks up. “You want me to what? I am not your personal clown, Potter. If you need entertainment, you won’t find it here.” He looks impossibly annoyed now, but I decide to ignore that.

“You kissed me,” I say and smile broadly. “You can’t just back out now.”

“You won’t ever let me live that down, will you?” Snape asks, dragging his hand through his hair. “It was a mistake and I apologize,” he adds and looks pleased with himself. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have about twenty more assignments to grade.”

Before he can actually do that, I shift some more so that my feet are now almost touching Snape’s robe and I gently nudge his side.

“I don’t want a stupid apology, Snape,” I say as I carefully put the parchment he’s currently grading to the side and then with a sigh shift some more until I am sitting right in front of Snape, my feet dangling left and right of his thigs. “In case you’ve forgotten, I participated quite enthusiastically in our little groping session.” I pause and watch Snape as he fights with himself. Clearly, one part wants to send me back to the sofa, but there is this snarling, ferocious part that for the moment allows me to continue. “I want more,” I add when it looks as if the responsible teacher part of Snape might gain the upper hand.

He flinches and when he looks up, there is clear frustration and longing in his eyes. How could I ever perceive them as cold and empty?

“You want me to assault you again, Potter?” he asks, quiet fury in his voice. “You want me to forget all notions of consent, of decency, or school rules, just to ravish you until we both get off? Or am I mistaking your words for something else?”

I gently slide off the desk onto his lap, Snape’s arms almost instantly closing around my body, to steady my balance, to keep me from hurting myself. How can this man possibly think he might harm me?

“You have my consent, Snape,” I say as I gently trace my fingers over Snape’s stubbly jaw. He must have forgone shaving today and I like the feel of the unshaven skin against my fingertips. “Consider my consent given as long as I don’t say anything else.” From this close, his scent is tantalizing again, and my head bows down almost by instinct. “I think I am going to die if you honestly suggest to just go back to how we were before,” I say nuzzling his skin over his artery. “Even you can’t be so cruel,” I mutter, and the tip of my tongue dabs the delicious skin there. It tastes a little bitter, likely from the droplet of sweat that appears as soon as I start my exploration, but underneath is that sweetness I’ve been looking for.

“Don’t,” Snape whispers the same time his hands glide through my hair, pulling me closer. My heart thrums hectically in my chest and warmth runs through my body from all the places we touch.

“It’s alright,” I ghost against Snape’s jaw, my hands mirroring his as they caress those soft, silken tresses. “We’ll be fine, Snape.”

I can feel Snape’s lips when they almost reverently press against my jaw, dabbing and licking, just like me, both of us tasting the scents we find on each other’s skin. I have no idea if my words actually got to him, or if this is just a continuation of what happened in the broom closet, this fervour that consumes both of us. Only this time, it’s different. There is no rush, no frantic attempts to find completion, only sweet joy in having returned home, elation at finding the other reciprocating.

“You’ve never been more wrong,” Snape says as he presses his lips on my neck and then I feel his teeth as they drag against my skin, the friction instantly setting my body aflame. “I am dangerous, especially to you,” he says, each word coming out whenever he releases my skin from this onslaught.

I lean my head back to give Snape some space to continue his exploratory pursuits.

“What would life be without a little danger,” I gasp out when Snape’s teeth pierce my skin a little harder. Merlin, I need this, grave it more than anything right now.

“Foolish Gryffindor.” Snape sounds almost affectionate in his favourite insult of my house.

“You are one to talk,” I reply with just as much fondness. “You Slytherins are so sly, so devious. I bet you dream about tormenting me with this half-assed misery.”

Snape pulls away from me and his eyes are so full, almost gleaming in the brightness of the sun.

“Believe me, Potter, you don’t want to know about my dreams,” he says and now there is a predatory leer on his features. Contrary to Byron, it doesn’t bother me with Snape. Not one bit.

I have been working on his shirt the last minute or so and now finally I’m able to reveal what’s been hidden by cotton and shiny buttons, my hands for the first time touching his chest, smooth in most places, but the occasional scar under my palms.

“I think you’ve forgotten how kinky I am,” I say and triumphantly press my lips to Snape’s chest. If I close my eyes, I can almost see the blood, how it pumps through his vessels, the heart, steadily pushing more into his bloodstream.

“How could I ever forget that?” Snape’s head has fallen back, the artery pulsing almost frantically. “How you desecrate your own wand, Potter, with your tight little arse.” He gasps when my lips finally close around his right nipple. “I bet the thought of doing it with me in earshot, turned you on, didn’t it?”

I can’t help it, these words, the images they provoke spur my arousal, heighten it and I groan around his pink nipple in my mouth. Never have I felt so vulnerable and protected at the same time. So utterly debauched but without shame. I could get used to waking up like this, with Snape and the thought stopped scaring me a while ago. Nothing about this feels wrong or dangerous, not as long as he is with me.

Snape’s fingers tighten around the back of my head, crushing me against his chest. I can hear him, groaning softly as I avert my attention to his left nipple.

“You always look so innocent, in your uniform, always watching the world from under your fringe, pretending you are anything but a kinky degenerate. Minerva would get a heart attack if she knew half of the things you are up to, the warped ways in which you satisfy your debased body.”

His words go straight to my cock, and I thrust against his body in desperate search of release. Gods, this man could read out a telephone book and I’d come off just from listening to him. And when he describes me as the horny adolescent I am, it should freak me out, or upset me but instead, I rut against him in a clear display of my depravity.

My heart almost stops when I feel Snape’s hand slide down my body and then cup my leaking cock, through the thick cotton of my sweatpants. Throwing my head back, I finally utter the lusty moan I’ve been holding in for so long, followed by a sharp keen when those clever fingers curl around my hardness.

“Never knew you were such a dirty little boy,” Snape whispers against my neck, once again planting kisses there. “So vocal.”

“Fuck it, Snape!” I almost howl when he starts to rub my cock through the fabric of my trousers, artful but oh so deliberately slow. “I fucking kill you if you don’t get a move on!”

“Patience.” Snape sounds almost amused, but when I start to hump his hand, he presses my cock, hard. His black eyes sparkle in the brightness of the room as he sneers. “You’ll only come once I allow it.”

Fuck, that’s even hotter. Those eyes, they let me know that I am no longer in control, so I nod trying to still my traitorous body. I am shaking all over, clawing my fingers into Snape’s robes to keep myself steady and upright.

“Good.” Snape pushes me back until I rest against the desk, the hard wood in my back feels sturdy against my trembling body. “Here, like this,” he says quietly as he loosens my arms from where they tightly grip his robe and places them over my head. I can feel parchments tumbling to the ground but we both ignore it, my eyes wide and dilated, holding on to Snape’s.

“Please,” I start, but Snape gently presses his finger against my trembling lips.

“Hush,” he says as he frees my shirt from the confines of the waistband and then slowly, maddeningly, unhurriedly, slides his warm palms over my stomach, up my chest and then pushes the garment over my shoulders and off. He lets it drop to the ground, not sparing it any thought or a second glance, as he takes in the sight of me, sprawled out over his lap and desk. “So beautiful,” he whispers reverently as his fingers return from my shoulder, down my chest. One finger darts out, brushes over my left nipple, forcing my body up like the curve of a bow.

“Ah, fuck it,” I moan as my flesh reacts like dry wood to the fire of Snape’s touch. He smirks, the corners of his mouth bending upwards, looking so much like the prince so many months ago, holding me up in my arousal by a string, it’s almost painful in its intensity. Calloused fingertips rub over the little pebbles, again and again, every single touch going directly to my throbbing cock. Part of me is almost relieved when he let’s go, when his fingers trail down over my sternum, my solar plexus, leaving quivering muscles in their wake. When he reaches my belly button, he dips one finger in, almost obscenely thrusting into the little hole, both of us watching the loaded display, as he desecrates my first opening.

I am so close to whatever he wants me to do, so undone ready to be put back together to whatever pleases him most. I throw my head back as his finger moves lower, getting closer to the one place I need it to be. My body is as taut as the string of a bow, the flesh quivering as he brushes over it, maddeningly gentle. He follows the line of hair coming down from my belly button to the edge of my pants and I gasp with the force of my arousal. When finally- _finally‑_ he dips under the elastic waistband, I almost snap from the sheer momentum of my longing. None of what came before, my clumsy touches or the frantic fumbling in the broom closet can compare to this exquisite torture.

Instead of moving down, to my shuddering manhood, Snape’s hands slide sidewards, and I growl.

“I’m going to kill you,” I press out between my gasps, green eyes ripped wide open as I burn, splayed out in front of my lover.

Snape seems amused. “To be that young and needy again,” he says as he holds my hips in his warm hands, his fingers rubbing over my heated skin in tantalizingly slow movements. He leans forward and then blows the shortest of breath over my stomach, leaving goosebumps in the air’s wake.

“Aaargh!” I scream my frustration into the warmth of Snape’s sitting room, my fingers digging painfully into the wood of the desk. “You think I won’t do it?” I force out, as I glare at Snape, who looks so unaffected by this all, that I want to strangle him. _I’m on the edge here, why are you so calm, so bloody composed?_

Snape hums, completely unconcerned about my empty threat, but then seems to take pity on me. Moving on, his palms cup my ass cheeks, kneading and forcing another splutter of obscenities out of my dirty mouth.

“Oh, Merlin’s tits, this feels so good. Don’t stop. I swear, I kill you if you dare to stop once again.”

Snape’s eyes watch me as I squirm under his hands, as they knead my quivering back and then one finger just barely touches the ring of tightness, that’s waiting for his touch.

“Bloody hell,” I gasp out when I feel one steady digit press into the tight warmth, again so unbearably slow. “Don’t… stop!” My eyes are closed as I try to push my arse towards that delicious length penetrating not nearly enough of me.

And then it pulls away and this time I scream a murderous howl of frustration when I am left wanting, trembling with the power of my own arousal.

“ _Kill_ … _you_ ,” I say between much-needed breath. “ _Strangle_ _you_ … _with_ _my_ …. _bare_ _hands_!”

Chuckling Snape pushes the waistband down until it slips over my hips. “Have I mentioned how much threats to my personal wellbeing arouse me,” he says. “Move.” It takes me a moment to realize what he implies until I finally lift my lower body, so he can pull the pants down to my thighs. “Good boy.”

The moan tumbles from my lips before I can do anything to stop it, leaving me exposed, wanting. Snape’s hands carefully brush over my hips only to stall when they get closer to the one place that’s seemingly been waiting for his touch all my life.

“My, my,” he says, smirking. “Now look at this. Such a lovely little cock, hidden all those weeks behind too many layers of clothing.”

I flush. “Don’t just watch, touch it already,” I whine as he continues to just look at my purple length, quivering under his steady gaze.

“I’m afraid, if I touch you there, you come in under a minute,” Snape says, sounding equally thrilled and disappointed.

“Twenty seconds tops,” I answer, rutting into the empty air. “Fuck Snape, just do something or I swear I am going to wank over your desk in a moment.”

“Interesting proposition, Mr Potter,” Snape says, as the corners of his mouth curl up. “If I hadn’t seen you last year, pleasuring yourself in this exact sitting room, I’d discard it as an empty threat. Talking about that incident…” He smirks. “Didn’t you profess a certain predilection for wands?”

“Wand or no wand, I need to come Snape,” I cry and begin to smack my head against the sturdy wood in my back. I am slowly coming to the end of my rope, I am desperate for release.

“Stop that!” Snape orders sharply and then cushions my head with his hand. “I’ll stop if you continue to hurt yourself, Harry.”

It’s more the use of my first name that stops me, forces me to look up and meet Snape’s gentle gaze. His eyes are filled with arousal, warmth but also conviction. He’s going to make good his threats.

I nod and touch his warm hands with the tips of mine. “ _Please._ ” I just want this torture to end. Snape leans forward and then presses a short kiss to my stomach, clearly meant to comfort me.

“I am quite partial to polite requests,” he says and then closes his fingers around my cock.

Words leave me at this moment, I am reduced to the sensation of touch, the connection of my body to that burning length as I feel the soft skin gliding against mine. The pressure against my heated flesh, pushing me higher and higher, until I fear to be consumed by the flames of my desire. In the end, it is not Snape’s hand around my throbbing cock, but the touch of something hard, cold against the tight muscles of my arse that brings me over the edge. 

_Snape’s wand._ The cool acacia wood just barely dips into my pulled-up body and I explode into a thousand pieces, moaning and sobbing my release into the empty air between me and Snape. My come spurts over Snape’s hand, my stomach and parts of his trousers with the force of my orgasm. I pant, barely getting enough air into my lungs as I lie with the aftershocks of my undoing.

With tired eyes I watch Snape pull back his wand and then dip it into the fine layer of cum. When he closes his lips around the top, his pink tongue lapping up the creamy substance, I shudder from the intimacy of that deed. My eyes close as if on their own accord, when I feel Snape’s hands on my hip, rubbing the heated flesh. The ghost of a cleaning spell over my goosebump-riddled body and the warm sensation of that touch.

“You look tired,” Snape says quietly and then sighs. “Now that you are duly entertained, perhaps you like another nap, and I can finish my grading in peace.”

I nod and feel Snape rising from the chair, taking me with him. I feel so protected as he carries me over to the sofa, carefully places me on the sofa cushions, pulling up my pants as he goes. Before he can stand up again, I close my arms around his shoulders.

“Could you just stay here a while?” I swallow down some of my fear. “Last time, you just left and then the next time I saw you, you were covered in blood and acting like a zombie.”

“I stay until you are asleep,” Snape agrees and sits down so that my head rests in his lap. He tugs the warm blanket around me and then puts my glasses on the table. “Now, rest,” he says as he pats my messy hair. “I’ll have a fun evening planned.”

I can’t help it, I look up with immediate interest. “I hope fun means you and me naked on your bed.” I curl my fingers around his hand, that’s resting on my stomach. “I did notice you didn’t get off.”

Snape smiles, leans down and presses a soft kiss on my lips. “Don’t worry about that, I am not nearly as needy as a seventeen-year-old boy.”

I chuckle. “Good to know.” Hiding my yawn by pressing my face into Snape’s robe, I am instantly comforted by his unique scent. “So, some bondage tonight then?”

“I am sure the headmaster would appreciate such a display during your first-ever order meeting,” Snape says sounding amused. “Minerva, however, will faint if you mention your debauched ways.”

“Really?” I turn so that I can check if Snape is jesting or not. “An Order meeting? Who would have thought I get to attend one before I turn old and grey?”

“Who indeed.” Snape leans back and rests his head on the backrest. “You have many advocates.”

“I hope you are one of them?” I press my lips against the warm hand that is resting in mine.

“Always. I was a proponent of letting you attend for years.” He peers down at me and his eyes are serious. “I was always in favour of you receiving as much training as you can. Not only for the war but for what comes after. Curses only get you so far. Eventually, you need a tactical mind, a proficiency in dealing with everyday politics.”

I press my cheek against Snape’s stomach, that’s soft and just as warm as the rest of him. “So, you believe there’s an after?”

“I do.” Snape gently caresses my side. “You are much too stubborn to simply die.”

“I don’t want an after, if it isn’t with you,” I mutter against his body as I feel the heaviness of impending sleep.

Snape pulls me against his body and presses a kiss on my forehead. “Slytherin cunning is quite proficient at keeping me alive.” My skin prickles pleasantly where his lips have been. I drift into the sweet confines of sleep, resting securely in the warmth of our bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. 25 chapters. 100 000 words. I honestly never thought this would get so long. It started with a one-shot almost nine months ago and turned into this delightful monster. I am so grateful for all of you who stuck around, left kudos, brightened my days with your insightful comments and trusted me enough to go on this wild ride with me. Harry and Snape, this story, yes even Byron- it's all so dear to me and I can't wait to share the rest of the story with you. Thank you a thousand times and as always, stay safe in these troubled times 💜
> 
> ~ Lena


	26. Out of the frying pan and into the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter to date, almost 7000 words. It's that time of year and I wish all of you, my dear readers, a lovely holiday season and in case I don't get to upload another chapter before, a peaceful New Year. May it be kinder than the last one. Hopefully, my little story full of quirks, friendship, love and mystery brought you some comfort in these trying times. After all, I started writing when this crazy pandemic began and it certainly kept me sane through a year filled with uncertainties. A fix-it, in the truest sense of the word. 💜
> 
> ~Lena

Snape’s body is just as warm when I wake up as when I fell asleep. He’s snoring softly, the puffs of air from his nose ruffling strands of hair that fell into his face. I’ve never seen him so peaceful, serene, none of the usual signs of frustration, tiredness or misery on his features. His chest is rising and falling, and I happily press my cheek against his warmth.

The room has gotten dark, with the fireplace burning low and the cool drift of dungeon air permeating the space outside of the blanket. But in here, where it’s just Snape and me, it’s cosy, and nothing in the world would make me want to move. Of course, this little slice of heaven gets destroyed eventually. However, I would have preferred it to happen with Snape waking up and starting to ravish me. Instead, I get the door being pushed open and into the room steps one of my least favourite people.

Byron. His eyes meet mine and I can see annoyance flare in those glowing pools. Smirking, I snuggle further into Snape’s robes, pulling him closer in a clear show of ownership.

Instead of showing any further reaction, he walks over to Snape’s liquor cabinet and pours himself a glass of whiskey. Strolling over, he flops down on Snape’s armchair, making enough noise so the wizard in my arms stirs.

Snape’s eyes are sleepy when he opens them, he stares at me in obvious confusion for a moment and then his gaze darts to the intruder next to us.

“Byron.” Snape’s voice sounds gruff as if he’s not completely awake yet.

“Severus.” Byron raises a brow and takes another sip from his tumbler. “Is this what you meant with controlling your lesser urges?”

For a moment Snape appears puzzled and then notices me, the way I am draped all over him, the unmistakable scent of sex in the air. He frowns and before he can say something stupid- like, _I regret what happened Harry_ \- or send me away, I sit up, keeping one arm around Snape’s torso.

“Mind your own business,” I say casting Byron a dark glare, not caring one bit to hide my anger.

Byron sighs. “I’d love to but unfortunately Severus asked for my presence and begged me to perform an ancient ritual. So, Harry as you can see, it’s not really my fault I am currently here chiding your mate.”

“Just leave us alone,” I grunt, clutching at the warm body next to me. “We don’t need you here.”

“Harry.” Snape sighs but I continue without pause.

“No, I don’t care why he’s here, I want him gone!” I say heatedly and turn to Snape. I feel the frustration with Byron choking my throat. “Make him leave,” I press out, the words barely leaving my lips with all the anger that suddenly overwhelms me.

Byron chuckles. “Such dramatics,” he says.

Snape growls. “Enough,” Snape says, pulling me against his chest. “Please leave, you are frustrating Harry.”

“Do I?” Byron raises one elegant brow. “My, my, how quickly the mighty have fallen.” He places the tumbler on the table, gets up and stares down at us. It’s impossible to read his expression, he watches us as a scientist does with his research objects. If we were an experiment, it in all likelihood failed. “I was sent here by Albus, to remind you about the order meeting in half an hour. Try not to be late, or you’ll draw unnecessary attention to your illicit affair.”

I press my face into Snape’s chest until I hear the door close and then look up, my eyes clearly showing my anxiety.

“I don’t like him,” I mutter and am taken aback when Snape simply presses his warm lips against mine.

“I know,” he says with a sigh. “You have nothing to fear from him, though.”

I huff. “He clearly wants us apart,” I say as if this alone explains my irrational aversion to the man. The truth is I have no idea why I dislike Byron so much, but every cell of my body screams to keep him away from Snape.

“Perhaps, but not for the reason you think.” Snape floats his bottle with firewhiskey over, pours two drinks and hands me one. “He tries to protect me and, in some ways, even you.”

“I don’t need his protection,” I reply coolly. “You won’t hurt me, not in a thousand years.”

Sipping from his drink, Snape pulls me all over him again and stares into the dark fireplace.

“Not intentionally, no.” He sighs. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” I take a huge gulp from my drink, almost choking on the alcohol. Bloody hell, this stuff is strong. I vividly remember choking on firewhiskey in this very room weeks ago, the memory as current as the first time I saw the castle or the day of my sorting. I feel warm in my stomach, the alcohol pooling there and spreading its flames through my every limb, despite the argument I am currently having with my mate. I like the sound of that, even if I have no idea what it means. But it pissed Byron off, so it makes me deliriously happy.

Snape turns to me and raises one brow. “I assume you want to allude, it’s mine?” When I nod, he takes another sip. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to protect you.”

“From you?” I sit up and turn so that I can face him. My vision blurs for a moment as the alcohol surges through my system. I really need to get a handle on this. “You care for me. What could you possibly do to hurt me? And why would you?” When Snape just holds my gaze, I prod his chest with my finger. “You know, you could stop being cagey about all this and just tell me.” I empty my glass. “I promise you, I can take it. I’m a big boy.”

“It’s not so easy,” Snape mutters and pulls me down again. “Soon. I’ll tell you soon, Harry.”

I roll my eyes but stay where I am, snuggled against Snape’s warm body, that’s somehow more real than anything else in this world. “I like that,” I say as I press my face into his chest again. “You, using my name. It sounds as if you genuinely care for me.”

“Of course, I do,” Snape says with a soft chuckle. “I don’t make a habit of offering my students hand-jobs and letting them spend all their free time in my personal quarters.” He presses another kiss on my head. “In fact, only a couple weeks ago, I would have vehemently denied ever sinking so low as if to assault a student.”

“You didn’t assault me,” I insist, peppering Snape’s chest with featherlight kisses, just because I can. “I told you just to assume my consent until I say otherwise.”

“It’s still against the rules and Albus’ explicit order.”

“Screw that,” I hiss against his warm chest and then looks up. “Screw them all to hell, Severus!” My cheeks flush when his foreign name tumbles from my lips.

A warm hand cups my cheek, calloused fingers gently stroking my skin. “Such beauty whenever you roar, little lion,” Snape says with a soft smile. “You should do it more often.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help pressing my cheek against Snape’s palm. “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this.”

“I never sweet-talk,” Snape replies, shrugging. “One of the reasons people find me so off-putting.” He leans over and nuzzles my neck. “Why waste your time with useless pleasantries, when you can get the job done more efficiently with candour?”

I turn my head to give him better access to my neck, finding it difficult to concentrate on our current conversation.

“Don’t they say, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?” I say as I begin to unbutton Snape’s robe.

A warm hand stalls my deft fingers, curling around the digits and trapping them against Snape’s chest.

“I have no interest in catching insects,” Snape says, taking another sip from his drink with his free hand.

I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure it’s not meant literally,” I reply and lean down to open another button with my teeth.

“You might as well stop, as we have no time to finish this,” Snape says just as I dart out my tongue to lick over his exposed flesh.

“Let’s just skip the stupid order meeting then,” I say. “Tell them, I am sick. Or that we are both sick. I passed it on to you.” I look pleased with this marvellous idea, but Snape pulls me up and presses my body tightly against his.

“What a flimsy excuse,” Snape replies as he gets up, simply dragging me with him. “You wouldn’t survive being a spy for ten seconds. Stop that.” He slaps my hand away from his waistband. “Such a vixen.”

I pout as I allow him to carry me to the bathroom door. “More like a horny teenager,” I say and loop my legs around Snape’s hips. “Come one, we make it quick. I bet I can come in under five minutes.”

Snape gently sets me on the floor. “I don’t doubt that for a minute, judging by your last performance.” He leans towards me and presses a quick kiss on my lips. “Now, be a good boy and take a quick shower. I don’t want you to arrive at the order meeting with me and smell like sex.”

I shudder as I remember the last time he called me a good boy. “How about this: You’ll join me and we both get off in under ten minutes?”

“I don’t smell like sex, so there’s no need for a shower.” Snape ruffles my hair and then walks over to the bedroom door. “Ten minutes max Potter. I’ll make sure a fresh pair of robes is here when you are done.”

Opening the door, I turn back, admiring Snape’s backside. “Make that a fresh pair of jeans and a jumper,” I say before disappearing into the bathroom to have one long, cold shower.

*

“What time do we have?” I ask as we walk through the empty corridors of the castle.

“Close to eight,” Snape replies as he walks briskly ahead of me. “We need to hurry. I detest being the last to arrive.”

I chuckle. “Strange, I’d have taken you for the dramatic sort who enjoys a big entrance.”

Snape turns his head to cast me an unimpressed look. “I see you are in a good mood. Excellent. I usually want to throw myself off the astronomy halfway through the meeting. Let’s see if you can keep your cheery attitude.”

Back in his quarters, Snape made it absolutely clear that outside of his quarters none of the recent changes in our relationship could be revealed. His life depends on it after all. I itch to just grab his hand but instead try to release some of the tension by our cheeky back and forth.

“How bad can it be?” I ask, flashing him a broad smile. “It’s just a meeting.”

“We’ll talk again in about four hours,” Snape says as we arrive at the gargoyle.

I swallow hard. “Four hours? You are joking?”

“Mince pastry,” Snape says, and the gargoyle moves away to reveal the revolving stairs. “If we are lucky, Potter.”

I jump on right behind him and once we are out of sight from the corridor, I close my arms around him, nuzzling his back.

“Potter.” Snape’s voice gives away a clear warning.

“What about calling me Harry?”

“You’ll get Potter as long as you misbehave,” Snape says.

Sighing, I release him as we reach the door to Dumbledore’s office. Stepping next to Snape, our shoulders brush against each other.

Snape rolls his eyes. “No more games,” he says and when I nod, he opens the door. Inside, the office has been magically enlarged and a huge round table placed in the middle. Roughly twenty pair of eyes turn towards us as we step inside, Snape stalking over to the table without a word of greeting, only the curtest of nods. I mimic him while trying not to trip over my feet.

“Severus, Harry, welcome.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle as he points to a chair between him and Snape. “Please, sit down my boys, and we can get started.”

Once I sit down, I look up from under my fringe and find Alistair Moody right across the table, his good eye piercing me while his magical one for the time being rests on Snape. It’s weird considering a polyjuiced copy of this fearsome wizard taught me for a whole year until he was exposed as the son of a former minister of magic who conspired with Voldemort to kill me. One year I watched him demonstrate Unforgivables to a class of terrified youngsters. Even Malfoy looked close to being physically sick back then and watching the cruciatus curse being cast admitted Neville to the infirmary for several days. I wrote assignments for this guy, learned spells from him, some of them quite useful. Only it was never him. This asymmetry in our relationship still makes me nervous so I turn my head only to find Bill Weasley winking at me. I wave back as every civilized person would but of course Snape objects. Totally uncivilized that one when he kicks me against my leg.

“Ouch, that hurt,” I hiss, bending down and pretending to check my shoelaces.

“Your own fault,” Snape mutters back.

I roll my eyes, deciding if he wants to be difficult I might as well act like the cantankerous brat he and everybody else expects me to be. I cast him a baleful glare and return the kick under the table. Sadly, Snape doesn’t even grunt, he only maintains his stoic mask in place as he keeps his eyes on the opposing window. Bastard. I’ll get revenge later.

Next to the infuriating former potions master sit, like ducks on a row, the other three heads of houses. McGonagall’s face is her usual no-nonsense one, her dark eyes darting between me and Snape, who whole-heartedly ignores her. Best to do the same. My head of house has this uncanny ability to see right through me more often than I am comfortable with, so naturally, I am relieved when her attention is shifted to Sprout who leans over and says something.

Next to the two witches sits Flitwick, his bright eyes sparkling as he follows Kingsley Shacklebolt’s animated tale about some magical bunny on his last Egypt vacation. Or something along those lines. I only hear every third word or so, but it must be quite amusing because Flitwick almost chokes on his giggles. Yep, our charms professor and duel champion giggles like a little girl, without any shame or restraint and I suddenly feel a surge of fondness for the man. Policing our responses according to archaic gender constructs seems like such a ridiculous thing to do when this fearsome wizard currently has tears of laughter stream down his cheeks. For some weird reason, this sight makes me ridiculously happy, more than it actually should. Perhaps, it’s this weird shadow of a thought that men loving men might make me less of a man, but if Flitwick can choke on his laughter, then I am quite possibly fine.

I am nudged into the side, of course, it’s Snape, who else could it be really. I turn and see his dark eyes as he just barely curls his lips and turns away. You could take this for a sneer if you wanted to, most likely the rest of the room does, but of course, I know better. If we were down in his sitting room, I’d crawl into his lap and attempt to finally reveal more of the man than just unbuttoning the top of his robe, but alas I can’t. Sighing I snuggle back into the surprisingly comfortable chair and wait for someone to address me or the meeting to start. Whatever comes first, I am not picky today. The mystery lasts for potentially ten seconds until Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Welcome everybody,” the headmaster says and instantly all conversations dry up as everybody turns towards him. “I want to introduce the newest member of our Order, Harry Potter. Most of you already know him and he hardly needs an introduction but nevertheless, welcome to our weekly meetings, Harry. I am sure you are going to fit right in.”

Everybody claps as I force a polite smile on my face. “Weekly?” I mutter clearly sounding as horrified as I feel. Nobody said anything about weekly meetings. Snape’s mouth quirks.

“Told you.”

“Now, I am sure you will feel quite at home here in no time at all,” Dumbledore continues, his blue once again twinkling in that maddening display of cheer. “I already apologize for how dry some of these proceedings can be, but waging a war, or as in our case preparing for one, is hardly very glamorous.”

His broad smile never wavers, not while he pats my arm nor when he turns to Alistair, who’s still keeping one eye on me and his magical one now resting on Flitwick in a decidedly disapproving way. Flitwick just pours himself some more wine and I wonder if I can have a glass. Snape forced me to drink a sobering potion before we left his quarters. I retaliated by nuzzling his neck until he threatened to hex my bollocks off. Now I seriously doubt this is even possible and surely another violation of the Hogwarts penal code, but he already broke this one before, so I wasn’t taking any chances. I try to surreptitiously get my hands on the bottle of wine next to Snape, but he pushes a glass of water in front of me and growls softly. The nerve. I take a sip and plan my retaliation.

Dumbledore’s voice sounds as if he has done this plenty before, matter-of-fact, patient. Suddenly I am grateful he’s still here, leading the meeting, leading the bloody war because I am fairly sure who these people would look to if he were gone. As meddling as he can be, as infuriating as his unfitting bouts of cheeriness sometimes are, Dumbledore has been carrying this burden for decades and he doesn’t look weary of it.

“If I am not mistaken, we always start with Alistair’s report about the recruiting effort among the Auror corps. Please Alistair, go ahead.”

Moody clears his throat as his magical eye rotates, only to come to rest on me again. It never loses its hint of rebuke.

“In the last week, we were able to recruit five new Aurors to our cause, with two more still considering,” he starts and finally his eye turns into Dumbledore’s direction. My shoulders relax and I snatch Snape’s glass of wine, quickly taking a sip. He ignores me, instead listens to Moody but the short clench in his jaw tells me he took notice. I smirk but that one fades when Molly casts me a frown from where she sits next to her husband and I put the glass back looking chastised.

“As of yet, I have not divulged critical information to any of them, but they have started additional training sessions on top of their regular Auror coaching.” Moody sounds neither pleased nor upset, so I have no idea if this yield is any good. However, his magical eye returns back to me and the need to flip it off is strong. Instead, I take another sip from my water and pinch Snape’s leg, only to be ignored again.

“Trainee Aurors?” Kingsley has leaned back to listen to the former Auror as he listed his recent accomplishments but now, he sits up.

“All of them.” Moody looks displeased, but it’s hard to tell if it’s about the trainee Aurors or Kingsley’s interruption.

“What about the more senior Aurors?” Kingsley leans forwards slightly and almost tips over his glass of wine, but Flitwick’s wand moves it to the side before the drink can be spilt.

Moody’s mouth thins. “Most of them admit something’s off, naturally. They are the ones dealing with more frequent attacks on muggles and wizarding families right now, but most rather refrain from choosing sides as of yet.”

Before Kingsley can shoot off another question, as he clearly intends to, Dumbledore butts in.

“As is expected,” he says. “At the moment, their careers are on the line if they stray from the ministry’s public stance and it will take far more for most of them to cross the line as long as the minister’s refusing to acknowledge the severity of the situation.”

“Scrimgeour’s a fool,” Moody grunts as he shifts on his chair. “It’s almost more infuriating than Fudge’s incompetency because Scrimgeour clearly knows we are getting precariously close to a war but pretends the ministry got everything under control.”

“An additional four fatal attacks on private residences have been brushed under the carpet,” Kingsley says his deep voice vibrating with quiet fury. “Two burglaries into ministry offices that were clearly done from the inside and all the paperwork disappeared overnight.”

“And two attacks on goblin settlement,” Bill adds quietly. “My bosses at Gringotts are naturally suspecting the ministry to be behind it.”

“The ministry?” Arthur says, his blue eyes worried. “Why would they think that? It’s been centuries since the last confrontation between them and the wizarding world.” He’s clearly disturbed with this cause of events as he clutches his wand on the table.

Bill shrugs. “The distrust never left and rightly so. None of us, nor the ministry ever formally apologized for how we treated them, and it is as good an opportunity as any to flame the fires of suspicion. The goblins think that whatever happens won’t affect them, wrongly so.”

“I’m afraid even they will have to choose sides in this war eventually,” Dumbledore replies stroking his beard. “Any luck with convincing them their best hope lies with the resistance?”

“Afraid not,” Bill replies and sighs. “Gringotts has always prided itself on his neutrality and they’d like to watch events unfold further until they tie themselves to a potentially losing side. I stay on it though.”

“I know you will,” Dumbledore retorts jovially. His blue eyes twinkle behind his half-moon glasses as he shifts his gaze on Kingsley. “Anything more on your front? How are your special orders proceeding?”

Kingsley looks suddenly uncomfortable and begins to shift in his seat. “Satisfactory,” he replies, and his usually benign face now shows reluctance. “Even if my contact there remains troublesome to work with.”

“Ah, well perhaps I need to undertake another visit to smooth things over and remind him that he is on our side now.” Dumbledore sounds completely unbothered by it and turns to the rest of the crowd. “Any more reports, then please speak up.”

And this is where the extremely boring part of the evening starts. So far, hearing about the concrete war efforts gave me additional insight into what exactly the Order is doing in preparing for what is to come but now most of what I hear is minutia, reports about proceedings at the ministry, talks with possible supporters and ongoing efforts to secure safe-places and a new headquarter. I drift off when Arthur starts his story about a conversation he had with one of his co-workers and my gaze surreptitiously drifts to Snape, who appears to follow one boring report after the other, his black eyes shifting from one speaker to the next. He truly wasn’t kidding about how tiresome these Order meetings were and I am beginning to regret my expected compulsory attendance from hereon.

Eventually, the reports end and Dumbledore, who never once looked bored, listened to everybody patiently, no matter how minute the story or the request, gravely nods his head.

“Thank you, everybody, for your continuous efforts in these difficult times,” he says, and I can see how it raises the morale in almost all around the table, I included. “I wish I could tell of all of you it gets easier from here but unfortunately the increased frequency of the attacks and the reported troop movements lead me to believe that the start of the war is close at hand. No doubt Voldemort intends for the first attack to be a decisive one, perhaps on the ministry or on Hogwarts itself. We need to be prepared once that happens.”

“Why don’t we strike first?” One of the wizards I have never seen before speaks up, his hazel eyes glittering with restless energy. “Strike so hard, the Death Eaters don’t know what hit ‘em.”

I can make out several affirmative murmurs around the table and Moody nods his head vigorously while his magical eye rotates wildly in its socket.

“Hear, hear,” he grunts approvingly. “We should use the moment of surprise and squash them before the monster rears its ugly head.”

Snape makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a muttered ‘ _fools’_ but Dumbledore only hums as if he considers the proposal, only to then turn to me.

“What do you think Harry? Would a first strike be favourable in our efforts in this war?”

Everybody’s eyes turn to me, including Snape’s, and I feel my mouth getting dry as I sit up. My gaze catches Molly’s and she smiles at me in encouragement, apparently no longer bothered by me potentially turning into an alcoholic before I graduate.

“Ehm, well I think we should wait for them to make a move,” I say and then take a huge gulp from my glass of water.

“Why?” Kingsley frowns. “Surely you have sound reasons for your counsel.” You could hear a pin drop, as more than twenty pairs of eyes stare at me and it takes incredible effort to find my voice.

“It would be foolish to give up the security Hogwarts’ wards offer or the protection of the ministry to strike out on a potentially well-protected Death Eater stronghold,” I start bracing my shoulders. I wanted to take part in this war, I wanted to be taken seriously, so I am determined to not falter. “Voldemort is no fool, he surely expects such a move and is prepared for it. I say we wait and draw them out to make a stand on our terms, under the protection of our world.”

It’s so quiet in the office that the only sounds are Fawkes gentle snoring and the ticking of the huge grandfather clock in the faraway corner as my words hang in the silence. Kingsley smiles softly, his dark eyes simmering with approval as he nods and Moody stares at me with both his magical and natural eye as if he’s seeing me for the first time. Molly clutches Arthur’s arm as she beams at me over the table and I am sure if we were closer, she’d hug me in one of her momma-bear hugs.

Dumbledore chuckles softly and pats my arm. “Exactly,” he says and then sighs. “A careless first strike won’t gain us any advantage and only increase the chances of failure. Some of you are restless, I understand that, but right now the best course of action is to wait for them to make the first move. I have no doubt we won’t have to wait long until we are forced to oppose more than one attack on our world and those we hold dear.”

“I agree,” Arthur says raising his head and his eyes catch mine. “We should use the remaining time wisely to gather as much support as we can so that we are prepared.”

Dumbledore unhurriedly moves his head and looks each of the assembled Order members in the eyes until he’s satisfied with what he finds.

“Splendid,” he says with another broad smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, we are already almost four hours into our meeting, so we will adjourn for today. We’ll meet next week at the Burrow as Arthur and Molly have kindly offered to host us for the evening. Until then, stay focused, keep your eyes open for anything unusual and watch your back. We have reasonable cause to believe that the ministry has been infiltrated.”

I want to get up from my seat, grateful for the chance to move again, when Dumbledore places his good hand on my arm, keeping me on my chair. Snape just casts me a quick glance but other than that only watches most of the attendees leave the office through the floo. The three heads of houses leave through the massive oak door, the warm lights from the torches outside promising the warmth of a bed and hopefully some company. I almost sigh when they close again and feel Snape’s hand brush against my thigh under the table.

Molly and Arthur are the only ones who turn at the fireplace and after casting Dumbledore a questioning look, they walk over, both smiling at me.

“You’ve done great tonight,” Arthur says with a soft chuckle. “I am afraid we sometimes forget how much growing up you had to do. Nonetheless, we are immensely proud of you, Harry.”

“No child should be forced to be involved in something as dreadful as a war,” Molly says, sounding a little miffed. “I don’t care whatever the Prophet calls you, you are one of mine and I will always protect you.” He eyes are bit misty as she stares down at me longingly. I am confused until Snape nudges me in my side, rather roughly, and mutters, “For god’s sake, give the woman a hug,” so quietly that only I can hear.

I cough softly to mask my chuckle and instead rise from my chair to receive one enormously warm hug, that smells like honeysuckle, cookies and the cleaning paste Molly uses all the time. I can feel how tightly she presses me to her motherly bosom, the cotton of her robe rustling when she plants a warm, wet kiss on my cheek.

“Are you alright my dear,” she asks, pulling me a little to the side, out of earshot of the other two wizards who appear to ignore the proceedings.

I nod, hugging her back. I’ll always adore Molly and Arthur, the first two people who unconditionally loved me, who offered me their home, their patronage at a time when I thoroughly needed it. I know those two always got my back, the Burrow will always be a place I can call home, even if I never marry Ginny.

“I am fine, Mrs Weasley,” I say and for a moment it looks as if her eyes get a little wetter until Arthur gently extricates me out of his wife’s arms.

“You heard him, Molly,” he says, gently patting her arm. “He’s fine.” His warm eyes hold me a moment, conveying the truth of his next words. “Just know that the Burrow, that we are always there if you need a helping hand, a patient ear, no matter what for.”

I swallow down something that tastes like affection and then lean over and press a just as wet kiss on Molly’s cheek.

“Always,” I whisper and am relieved when her face considerably brightens.

“We are looking forward to seeing you next week, dear,” she says, gently brushing over my cheek and ruffling my hair. “Stay safe, Harry.” With one last, warm look back at me, she allows Arthur to lead her to the fireplace, and I watch them quietly disappear in the green flames.

Turning back to the other two wizards I find Snape staring at me, his black eyes glistening with a ball of emotion that appears unreadable and several weeks ago I would not have been able to glean behind this impenetrable mask of aloofness. Now I can see the need for validation, the irrational fear of losing me, to the possibility of a home, somewhere in a topsy-turvy house.

Walking over I look down into his impassive face and gently claps his hand. I can see how he tenses, close to pulling his hand away when Dumbledore chuckles.

“We all need some comfort, now and then,” he says and then gets up and closes the floo with a wave of his hand. “Now, it’s late and Harry has classes tomorrow, which I expect him to attend.” These words are clearly directed at Snape who grunts in affirmation. “I trust you know how far to take it without crossing the line Severus,” he calls back at us over his shoulder as he begins to climb the stairs that materialize out of nowhere. “Get some sleep, you two and rise again with resolve tomorrow.”

Snape huffs as he pulls me down for a moment and I happily allow it. “Meddling fool,” Snape mutters and then presses a warm kiss against my lips. I almost melt against his body, wrapping my arms around strong shoulders and burying my hands in his hair. Somewhere upstairs a door falls into its lock, the sound promising we won’t need to stop any time soon.

“I like that,” I groan as he nibbles at my jaw.

“Of course, you do,” Snape says and there is so much warmth in his voice. “Foolish Gryffindor,” he adds and tenderly nips the exposed skin at my collar bone.

“I hope you plan on finishing it this time.” My voice sounds husky, so unlike myself.

“Perhaps,” Snape says as he brushes over my hardening groin forcing a heated moan from my lips. “You did behave after all.”

I press my lips to his neck and start sucking, needing to see a bruise stain his flawless skin. “Say it,” I beg, almost coming when his warm fingers curl around my cock.

Snape leans closer, his lips mere moments from my heated skin. “Good boy.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is all it takes, apparently. My body tenses, every nerve on fire until I come with a soft groan, my teeth sinking into that delicious flesh in heavenly agony. Snape holds me when I come down, cleans me with a soft chuckle, wrapping his arms around my back.

We don’t say anything, only rejoicing in the warmth of our embrace until I feel an uncomfortable tingle on my back. It grows until I can’t ignore it any longer.

“What the bloody hell is this?”

Snape sighs. “The headmaster letting us know that his hospitality has come to an end.” He pulls me up with him. “We should leave.”

I allow him to drag me to the door only to slide my hand in his. “Obviously, I stay at your place,” I say as we step onto the revolving staircase.

One brow raises elegantly, black eyes showing the mere shadow of a sneer. “Do you? I have no input, I take it?”

I flash him a cheeky grin. “You take it right,” I say as I jump from the last step, with a spring to my movements.

“I see.” Snape follows me much more gracefully, his black robes billowing behind us as we start down the corridor. “Well Potter, you know the way.”

“That I do,” I whisper as I clutch his hand.

***

_Kingsley couldn’t say that he particularly cared for this place, with its high towers and the cold wind that whipped around this part of the German Alps. It was always bone-shattering cold here, no matter how many warming charms he put on, so he hurried to make it inside. The hallways were dark and empty, only the paintings on the wall glowering down on him in disdain. Of course, they weren’t moving, everything magical stopped working as soon as one stepped over the threshold. This was no friendly place, after all, this was supposed to be a prison._

_“Ah, you are back.” The voice was cracked from disuse and the burning blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. “Did you bring me what I required?” He sounded every bit the miserable bastard as always, but Kingsley kept his voice even._

_“I did,” he replied and placed the sweets and old dusty tomes on the side table. They were probably safe, Dumbledore approved them after all, but his fingers still itched to take them back as yellowy, hawklike fingers ripped open one of the bags of flavour beans._

_“You are late,” he complained as he thrust his fingers into the plastic bag and pulled out an assortment of beans. Kingsley knew he didn’t miss him or any of such emotional nonsense. This creature wasn’t able to muster up one human emotion. He was just a king on an empty throne and Kingsley his only servant. “How’s the old bastard?” he asked, opening one raggedly looking book, his fingers almost caressing the dust-covered leather. It looked alien, wrong, so Kingsley turned to the window where outside the mountains were covered in inches of snow. More snowflakes were torrenting down, like an assault on the haunted castle._

_Kingsley clenched his teeth. “Headmaster Dumbledore sends his regards and extends a warning to remember that we are on the same side now.”_

_The chuckle rattling from thin lips sounded inhuman, like an age-old groan of a grave. “How could I ever forget this?” he asked cheerily and flashed Kingsley a smile that looked every bit as put-on as always. But for the first time, Kingsley saw shadows of the man who he once was, a glimmer of the charisma history ascribed this wizard. Kingsley couldn’t say if that comforted or unsettled him. “Tell him, if he doesn’t spare his old friend a visit, I might have to make my way to his precious little school and pay him a visit.”_

_Kingsley inhaled, trying to stave off the horror these words stirred in him. “Albus won’t take it seriously,” Kingsley replied, pulling his robe tighter around his suddenly shivering body. “You can’t leave the wards of this place.”_

_Another cackling laughter broke free from his mouth, two surprisingly even rows of teeth sparkling in the darkness._

_“Tell yourself that, Kingsley, if it makes you sleep better at night.” He ripped open a chocolate bar and took a hearty bite. “These walls can’t hold me back, just as you can’t contain me.”_

_“But Dumbledore can.” Kingsley turned around, tired of these games._

_Silence, and then a short hum as another chocolate bar disappeared down his throat. “Perhaps, but that’s still no reason to neglect me.” There was a whining quality to his voice again, that Kingsley was never sure whether it’s real or just another one of his mind tricks. He’d rather join Remus on his mission with the werewolves than being stuck here with their new ally all the time. Bad luck. Or the twisted humour of an old, meddling headmaster._

_“Well, take that to the headmaster.” Kingsley knew his voice sounded gruff, but it was late and as usual, being here did not lighten his mood._

_He made a sound that was halfway between a grunt and a chuckle, in any way deeply unsettling. “Perhaps I will.”_

_“Lovely.” Once again, this would be a long night, as always. If he was lucky, he might be home before the dawn. Turning back from the window and the impressive sight of the Alps, Kingsley pointed to the chess set that was the only thing not covered in inches of dust. “Care for a game?”_

_Another chuckle but then the towering body moved out of the armchair and over to the chess table. “Of course, I love to annihilate you, Kingsley. Black or white?”_

_Kingsley sighed and took the seat opposite, his counterpart already in the process of devouring a bag of crisps. Salted, no vinegar. Never vinegar, he didn’t hear the end of it last time. “Black.” He shrugged off his coat to get more comfortable. “No cheating.”_

_Another burst of rattling laughter could be heard. “It’s no cheating if you don’t catch me.” He moved the first pawn, his fingers almost tenderly pushing the little figurine. “But a fine ministry official like you should have no problem catching a wayward wizard.”_

_Kingsley moved his own pawn and allowed a short smile on his features. “Since when are you in awe of the ministry?”_

_Another piece is moved, Kingsley lost his first pawn. “The ministry is a travesty but you Kingsley, now you are an interesting one.”_

_“Am I?”_

_“Of course, you are keeping me company and seem not particularly scared. That is quite the feat.”_

_Another piece is lost but Kingsley doesn’t care. He never wins._

_“The powerful wards keep me from being worried.”_

_He looked up, his eyes simmering with glee as he takes the bishop. “Whatever makes you sleep at night, Kingsley.” He chuckled darkly. “We faced off so many times in the last months and you are not improving my friend,” he said as he watches Kingsley make his next move. “Tsk, tsk.” He takes another tower. “Don’t worry, I offer you a rematch.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all goes well, expect the next chapter before the New Year. Till then, farewell. 🥰


	27. Sulfur and Iron (and Vampires)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovelies, this is the last chapter of the year but fortunately the longest one yet, with over 7000 words. But never fear, you will, of course, get plenty more in the new year. 
> 
> I wish all of you a lovely, peaceful and most importantly healthy New Year, with lots of love and time spent with those you hold dear. 2020 has been a difficult time for most of us, but hopefully, the next one will be so much better. 
> 
> After all, “The new year stands before us, like a chapter in a book, waiting to be written.” – Melody Beattie
> 
> 💜💜💜

“Have a look at this, mate,” Ron says, after catching a paper plane from Seamus across the common room. “I reckon this is a very flattering and most importantly true depiction of one Slytherin ferret.” He pushes the parchment on my lap where I am currently reading the chapter for next week in my charms textbook. “What do you say?”

“Hm, he’s not nearly haughty enough and Seamus didn’t quite catch the spitefulness in our blonde ferret, but all in all— quite accurate.” I catch Seamus’s eyes, who is sprawled over the sofa on the other side of the common room with Dean and a fellow Hufflepuff friend and give him an approving thump up.

Seamus grins, nods, and then sends over another paper plane that lands in my lap, only for me to pick it up. Instead of one drawing of Draco Malfoy almost toppling into a cauldron and still managing to look snobbish, this one is a side profile of Snape standing in front of his desk down in the defence classroom. His hair has been pushed behind his ear, his black eyes simmer with the usual mix of annoyance and frustration, that after all these months I know all too well.

Thankfully, these days it’s rarely directed to me but at the world in general. The picture is certainly close to the real wizard, hooked nose, lanky hair, and the little line between his brows he gets when close to losing his already waning patience. None of the people in this room, or the whole castle really, know that this particular line disappears if someone starts to suck on his neck. That someone, of course, being me only two hours ago, when I sneaked into his quarters after breakfast because last night we had to cut short our making out session as soon as one of his Slytherins got stuck in the toilet drain and he needed to help the poor sod out.

Now naturally, I was fine with helping a fellow student, these days even a Slytherin, but what I wasn’t fine with was that he returned half an hour later and told me he had given the perpetrator detention this very night. Obviously, the student hadn’t fallen into the drain but was hexed to be trapped in there but why did the disciplining of Snape’s house come at the expense of my orgasm? Totally unfair if you ask me but Snape wasn’t in the mood to listen, much too pissed with his own house and their theatrics.

So of course, I sneaked there this morning after an extremely early breakfast (Hermione wasn’t there yet and she’s always one of the first, always catching up on some light reading and detesting the noise of the other students later) and resumed our date, which led to a very hot kissing session on the sofa. Hence, I saw the line disappear just when I started to suck on his neck in a vain attempt to leave my mark on him by way of a love bite. Of course, Snape healed it before leaving for breakfast with a spring in his step, but it’s more the principle that counts. What good is being in an intimate relationship with the man you used to hate and now want to devour every time you see him if you don’t get to leave some mark as a sign of ownership? 

Coming back to the drawing, Seamus did well with capturing the allure of Severus Snape in all his disgruntled glory and I give him one more thump up, after which I carefully fold the parchment to stash it into my satchel for safekeeping purposes. Snape will never have me take a photo of him so for the unforeseeable future, this will be the only effigy I’ll own.

“Captured the git well,” Ron remarks and winks. “For your wanking sessions?”

“Sod off,” I reply good-naturedly and return to my reading. I missed loads of stuff with how often I skipped classes in the last weeks and it’s high time I did some catch-up reading. You can’t expect Voldemort to plan his attack on our world so I am spared sitting my exams, even if I reckon the bastard would be spiteful enough to postpone just so that I could fail my end-of-year tests.

“I wish you would put half as much effort in your homework, Ron,” Hermione says from the armchair where she’s currently doing her rune homework. For in two weeks. Yep, she’s ahead of her class and now glowers at her boyfriend in a pretty accurate imitation of Molly Weasley. “Have you at least done your reading for defence later?”

“Depends on what you mean with ‘done’.” When Hermione intensifies her glare, Ron shrugs. “I looked at the headline.”

“Oh really, you looked at the headline? How kind of you to read the headline, everyone knows that this is a surefire way to understand the rest of the text, Ron.” Hermione looked more than miffed now as she carefully closes her textbook and puts the completed rune translation into her satchel. “How can you be so irresponsible?”

“It’s a chapter with some wild theories about magical stuff, not the manual to winning the war,” Ron gruntles, his cheek red as he throws the wrapper of his chocolate bar in the direction of the fireplace. Of course, it misses and stares at us almost as disparagingly as Hermione. Almost, nobody beats Hermione when she’s pissed about one of us not putting in their basic effort in our studies.

“It’s not some wild theory but an introduction on the main work regarding shield charms by Constantine the Flawless,” Hermione snaps back and with a wave of her hand makes the wrapper jump into the fire where it incinerates quite violently. “Understanding shield charms properly could be the one thing that lets you survive the war in the end.”

“Harry hasn’t read it either,” Ron retorted casting me a desperate gaze. He’s only half right, I never read it per se but Snape was kind enough to give me the gist of it two days ago in our little tutorial session. However, I have no intention of getting involved in their little spats so I just pretend to be engrossed in my charms text. Sorry mate, you are on your own.

“I told you before, Harry has been sick and is therefore behind in most of his reading but you have absolutely no excuse for your indolence,” Hermione huffs. “Don’t expect me to help you out if Professor Snape quizzes us later.”

Ron just harrumphs but finally picks up his defence text and I can’t help but chuckle. I know for a fact we’ll practice Protego Maximus later but I am also amazed how Hermione is still the same nagging slave driver she always was, a quite successful one I might add.

“Wait till she gets to your revision schedule mate,” Ron says nudging me in my side. “I saw it, it’s extensive and covers all your free time starting next week.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Hermione says already engrossed in another book and pats my thigh. “I left enough room for the DA meetings, your training sessions with Snape, any other order meetings you have to attend, and of course some free time to spend as you please. Just because it’s efficient doesn’t mean I am cruel, contrary to what Ronald thinks.”

“I never said you’re cruel I just mentioned—“

Fortunately, Ginny and Neville chose that moment to join us in our little nook and interrupt what would surely turn into an extensive argument easily lasting till our later defence class and probably being continued over dinner. Since they are kind of official, my two best friends have resorted to more and more of these spats, where they quarrel on forever. It’s one of the reasons I end up spending my evenings down in the dungeons with Snape, usually under the pretence of detention. The real reason is my raging libido, naturally.

“Hey guys,” Ginny says as she flops down and then tucks herself against Neville’s side once he sits down next to her. “What are you up to?”

Before Hermione can start her rant about sucky boyfriends I decide to intervene and steer the conversation in a direction that won’t end with both of them not talking to each other for a day. Of course, that never stops them from using me as a go-between and dumping ground for their problems.

“Nothing really, just some homework,” I reply and close my book. “Where are you coming from?” Both look wind-swept with rosy cheeks, likely from the cold wind somewhere on the grounds.

“Taking a walk with Luna after lunch,” Neville replies. “We found a little rodent that Luna insists is a baby nargle. We brought it to her dorm so she can feed it before we go to the library.”

“Nargles don’t exist,” Hermione says with a frown.

“Luna thinks they do.” Ginny looks completely undisturbed by this. “Perhaps it’s a nargle, perhaps it’s a baby squirrel but she’s going to keep it warm and fed.”

“Hopefully, she won’t be too disappointed if it turns out to be less magical than she thinks.” Neville looks a little troubled at that prospect.

Ginny pats Neville’s hand and then presses a soft kiss on his cheek. “It’s Luna, she might just think it’s in disguise for some reason. No worries, she’s going to be fine.”

“You’ll probably right,” Neville says, returning the kiss sightly flustered.

“So, you three are now-?” Ron stops and looks almost as embarrassed as Neville.

Ginny squints her eyes. “Now what?”

“Eh, I dunno what you guys call yourself that’s why I am asking,” Ron answers and tries to look less uncomfortable.

“Grow up Ron,” Ginny says and rolls her eyes. “Clearly, Luna, Neville, and I are in a relationship, we are pretty obvious about it you know?” Her brown eyes are blazing with anger.

Fortunately, Ron has the good graces to drop it and Hermione is already engrossed in her book, so I decide to get the conversation back on a track, that won’t lead to dead Weasleys.

“Are you going to come along tonight, Gin?” I ask, referring to the Order meeting tonight at the Burrow. Ron and Hermione are supposed to attend for the first time and so the smartest witch of her generation has been reading up on wizarding secret orders almost any moment she could spare, even if Ron and I told her that knowledge about Merlin’s Order probably won’t be required.

“I do actually, but of course I am not supposed to stick around for the actual meeting,” Ginny huffs. “Mom and dad are sending me up to my room like a little girl, I reckon.”

“I am sure we’ll get included once we are needed, Gin.” Neville rubs her arm and then casts her one of his broad, honest smiles. “The most important part is that Harry’s there.”

“Hey, Hermione and I are attending, too” Ron notes slightly irritated and perhaps a tad proud. “For the first time.”

“Honestly.” Ginny rolls her eyes and throws a gold-embroidered pillow at her brother. “Again, grow up and try to behave like an adult for a change.”

“Says the girl whining about being sent to her room tonight.” Ron this time evades the oncoming pillow easily.

“Guys, please.” I throw up my arms. “Could we get back on track?”

“Which track was that?” Ron smirks.

I roll my eyes. “I dunno, how about Order meetings, the war, tonight’s menu, basically anything that doesn’t lead to some major argument.”

“Harry’s right.” Hermione looks up from her latest book, obviously not bothered at all by the fact that only minutes ago she participated in the first big spat of the day. “We shouldn’t quarrel like this, with the war coming closer every day.”

“Gran says that the Prophet is in the ministry’s pocket, that they are purposely underreporting attacks on our world.” Neville sighs. “I am just glad we have set up the DA meetings again for some last-minute training for the students.”

“I am still reeling about the fact that so many Slytherins joined and seem honestly willing to fight,” Gin notes quietly as she stares into the merrily flickering fire. “I never thought I would get along with some of them the way I do.”

“Astoria and her friend Guinevere, I honestly like them,” Neville agrees with a broad smile. “If you’d told me last year that I would consider two Slytherins something akin to friends, I’d have sent you to Madame Pomfrey for fear of possible spell damage.”

“Well, Slytherins are people like anyone else,” Hermione says, finally stashing the last book into her satchel, done with her reading. “Not all of them are like you-know-who or the Malfoys.”

“Or Professor Snape.” Neville shudders and then casts me a contrite look. “I know you said you’ve gotten better along with him Harry, but even you must admit the man’s scary as hell.”

I smirk. “More bark than bite, Neville.” When he continues to look dubious, I sigh. “There are loads I can’t tell you but he’s not so bad at all. He’s already going easier on all of us in class, you have to admit.”

“Perhaps that’s easier for you to say,” Neville answers with a sad smile. “You were never scared of the guy but even after all these years I am terrified he might curse me one day, whether on purpose or as an accident.”

“Oh, Neville.” Ginny pulls him tight. “Snape’s still the same git he always was,” she adds scolding me.

I want to say that, however that might be true, he’s _my_ git now but I promised Snape to not reveal our changed relationship to anyone. So, I shrug, not wanting to get into an argument with Gin I clearly can’t win because all of Snape’s redeeming features are ones I am forbidden to talk about. And clearly, she isn’t wrong, Snape hasn’t suddenly changed into prince charming, at least not outside of his quarters.

Hermione pats my arm, knowing that I can’t reveal anything more but perhaps understanding how much it pains me to listen to others listing only Snape’s vices, his shortcomings (and yes, there are many and most of them quite off-putting) but never his redeeming qualities.

“Well, he hasn’t called me a know-it-all for a while,” she says easily, her voice upbeat.

Gin makes a disparaging sound in her throat but Neville looks up at that. “You know Hermione, you are right. He hasn’t humiliated me in front of the class till at least Christmas and he rarely insults me these days.”

“This is the bare minimum for a teacher,” Ginny retorts curtly. “Not insulting students, not humiliating anyone.”

“Let’s just hope in the future I am no longer bearing the brunt of his ridicule so often,” Neville says with a soft smile. “Professor Snape is a very powerful wizard, so if Harry tells me he’s on our side then that’s good enough for me.”

Neville looks halfway scared and hopeful and I vow to ask Snape to go even easier on him, perhaps try to find a reason to commend him for once if he finds a safe way to do so. Again, I am reminded how big a heart Neville has, what incredible courage he’s shown and how little he asks for. It’s not unreasonable to want for him to no longer be terrified of one of his professors anymore.

“Anyways, if Harry says he is to be trusted, we should listen to him,” Neville adds earnestly.

“Why?” Ginny frowns. “He could be wrong as the rest of us.”

“Because he’s the chosen one, of course.” The duh is implied as Neville smiles softly. “He’s the one mentioned in the prophecy, after all, the one that is going to defeat V-Voldemort in the end.”

‘It’s just a stupid prophecy, Nev.” I sigh. “It could have easily been you.” When Neville frowns, I press on, happy to make a point. This chosen one crap has to end, or people are going to shirk responsibility, just because they expect me to become superhuman because of a prophecy from decades ago. “Born as the seventh month dies— you are born on the 30th, me on the 31st. The only reason it’s me was by chance. Voldemort rather chose a half-blood like himself, than a pureblood. End of story. There’s no big finale where I raise above you all and kill him with the power of friendship and love. It’s not going to work like this.”

“But you defeated him loads already.” Neville looks at Ginny as if to verify his recollection, but the redhead has her warm eyes on me instead. “You slew the basilisk, you escaped after he murdered Cedric, you faced off against him at the ministry last year. Clearly, there’s more to it than just chance.”

“I tell you, there isn’t,” I press out and drag my hand through my hair. How can I make it clear that it has to be all of us, not just some teenager locked into an eternal battle with his prophesied adversary? “It has to be. I can’t go on, constantly expected to save the whole bunch, I can’t deal with this crap anymore. You saw how I was last year, how I was so close to breaking down under all of this prophecy bullshit. All of you, you must pull your weight, got to fight in this war— there are no easy shortcuts.” My voice sounds gruff at the end and I blink away some stubborn tears. Whether it’s desperation or fury that fuels them, I can’t say but it feels good to have this off my chest.

To my surprise, it’s Ginny who leans over and pulls me into her warm arms. I can make out her vanilla scent, so different from Snape’s spicey essence. While hers comfort me, his feels like the inside of myself, like the home I always yearned for.

“I get it,” she whispered and then pulls away, her eyes misty. “It’s too much, it’s always been too much.” Now she sounds pissed. This is the Ginny I adore, the one I love to have in my back. She’s like a blend of her parents in this aspect, fierce and empathic. Perhaps sometimes a little rash, just like her brothers.

Another warm hand clasps my arm. “I am sorry,” Neville says and I can see that he’ll think about our conversation for a while. Like so many people he was happy and content in the knowledge that someone was destined to triumph, so this must come as a bit of a shock to him. “I never considered—” He stops himself, smiles lopsidedly, and then tries again. “You’re right of course. Nobody can be expected to do it all alone, never was. We all need to do our part to defend our world.”

Ron clears his voice, his blue eyes are so full. “And we will. Always were, only some people have to learn.”

”Obviously.” Hermione pulls me close and it’s getting a bit much but my perceptive friend knows and pulls away. “We are not called the golden trio for nothing,” she adds with a wink, and just like that everyone, including me, bursts into laughter.

“I swear when mom read about this stupid moniker over the summer she was close to sending the Prophet a howler.” Ginny dabs her eye and shares a big grin with her brother, both aware that Molly Weasley has no problems sending howlers if she believes them justified. “Golden trio. The nerve of them.”

Hermione shrugs. “I take it as a compliment.”

After that, we sit together and chat about the coming weeks and I share some more stories from the last Order meeting. Everyone listens with apt attention until Ginny catches a face in the door leading outside.

“Luna!” She jumps up, runs over, and pulls the dreamy Ravenclaw into her arms. “How’s the baby nargle doing?” shes ask, pulling Luna into the tower.

“He’s sleeping,” Luna replies softly. “Should be alright until tonight. I get him something from dinner.”

“We’ll help you,” Neville says and Luna casts him a radiant smile, her blonde hair bathed in the light coming in from the window.

“Thank you, Nev,” she says, her eyes warm and gentle. For a moment, all three stand together, arms around each other and smile and I wonder why on earth I ever thought relationships need to be made up of a maximum of two people when here my three friends prove effortlessly that the amount of people involved is only limited by the amount of love and possibly inclination. Not that I and Snape could ever share each other with someone else, but that’s beside the point. Inclination. I am sure most people don’t regularly snarl at each other, we are just weird like that.

“Ready for a major study session in the library?” Ginny asks her two lovers and both nod happily. “We’ll be off then. See you later at the Burrow.” Before we can reply all three are off, still touching each other and the sound of their merry laughter follows them.

“Blimey,” Ron says and leans back. “Three would be bit much for me,” he adds casting his girlfriend a glance.

“Me too.” Hermione shakes her head. “I guess people need to figure that out for themselves, right Harry?”

“Definitely,” I smirk. “That’s the beauty of it.” My gaze drifts to the window where the outside is filled with azure blue sky, and the sunlight is casting the common room into brightness. “How about we take walk outside? We still have over an hour till defence later.”

Ron groans from where he’s spread but Hermione nods. “Fresh air sounds good,” she says, rolling her eyes when Ron turns on his stomach, hugging the pillow. “And only a minute ago I thought you had an epiphany and showed a sudden spurt of maturity. Glad our old Ron is back.”

“No, the old Ron would whine and then ask to be bribed with food to come along.” I link my arm with Hermione, ignoring Ron as he trots after us.

“Give it time,” Hermione whispers, and almost at the same time I hear Ron’s muttered _‘At least Gin, Luna and Neville would feed me’._ “Nailed it.”

*

Outside the air is clear and bitingly cold, contrasted with the for once blue sky and the winter sun is bathing the snowy landscape around the lake in so much light that I have to blink a couple of times as we head down the path leading across the grounds. Closer to the castle there are plenty of students enjoying the rare sun in the Scottish Highlands but the further we get away, the fewer people we see.

“It feels like we haven’t seen the sun in ages.” Hermione looks up into the blazing sun and squints her eyes. “It’s going to be at least another four weeks till the weather gets any better.”

She’s likely right but I can’t bring myself to care right now, with the snow-covered panorama in front of me, the world sleeping quite peacefully underneath the winter blanket, even the lake thickly frozen and the giant squid hibernating till the first rays of spring will melt the icy bulwark above him. 

“It’s beautiful though,” I finally express my wonder, and Hermione nods.

“It is.” She turns around to where Ron is traipsing behind us, his nose red, and his eyes blinking against the winter sun. “You coming?”

“It’s bloody cold,” Ron complains but starts to jog until he catches up to us. “Any of you have something to eat?”

Hermione rolls her eyes but rummages in her satchel until she finds a chocolate bar. “Here, try not to smear the chocolate everywhere.”

“Yes, mommy.” Ron bites into the gooey goodness and grunts. “Thanks.” Reaching over he smiles at his girlfriend and Hermione allows him to close his hand around hers.

“You okay?” Hermione looks at me, her eyes warm but worried.

I nod. “I am and for nothing in this world do I want anything to do with Ron’s chocolate-ey hand.”

Ron guffaws and, having finished his chocolate bar drags Hermione over to me only to grab my hand. “Sorry mate, this is not optional.” He winks and I roll my eyes but allow him to lead us down the snowy gravel path.

“So, what do you think are our chances of winning the quidditch cup this year?” Ron’s voice startles me out of my contemplative silence several minutes later.

“Not even sure if there’s going to be a cup winner this year. Probably depends on when Voldemort decides to attack, I reckon.”

“You’re probably right,” Ron says with a weary sigh. “Figures, when I have the chance to win, bugger messes it up.” He turns to me, his blue eyes bright in the sunshine. “Know what? I take this personally. One more reason to hate the snakey bastard.”

I grunt in affirmation as we follow the winding path until we are on the other side of the lake, as far away from the castle as possible. Here, we can already feel the gloom from the forbidden forest somewhere in the distance, with the occasional creature at times meandering. Today, the only living thing apart from us three is a flock of birds sitting on a tree near the lake. Hermione is standing with her back to us, her eyes resting on the other side of the lake. I step next to her and try to see what she’s staring at until I can make out the shape of a dark dot crossing the grounds into the direction of the forest.

“Wonder who’s sneaking into the forest in broad daylight?” Ron mutters as he joins us, his sharp eyes instantly making out the object of our attention. “Probably up to no good.”

“It’s hard to tell,” Hermione says, pursing her lips. “Wish I had my quidditch binoculars.”

We all watch the dot as it moves past the lake, ever closer to the edge of the woods. There’s no chance to make out any distinctive traits from so far away, but my curiosity is piqued now.

“Let’s follow them,” I suggest, already moving when Hermione clasps my arm.

“We really shouldn’t,” she warns. “It’s probably a teacher, perhaps Professor Snape looking for some potion ingredients?”

“No.” I am already shaking my head before she’s finished. “Snape is grading assignments all afternoon,” I insist. “I want to know who that is.” I turn away and smile when Ron and Hermione follow me without further argument, never considering to let me go on my own. We all learnt to trust our instincts in the last years.

“You owe me if we are following Sprout into the forest,” Ron grunts under his breath as we get closer to both the forest edge and the dark figure.

I can make out a dark woollen robe and then eventually a blonde head— Malfoy. I speed up as I see him disappear between the tree line, desperate to find out what my nemesis is up to.

“Perhaps we should return,” Hermione suggests but I shake my head.

“No, I want to know what he’s up to.” Inside, my heart starts to pump harder, the adrenaline spiking through my system.

Ron grunts his agreement as we disappear into the thicket, following Malfoy as he brushes through the hedges, making an incredible amount of noise. Under the canopy of the towering trees, it’s eerily dark, a strange fog in the air and it smells a little like sulfur. I’ve been here before, with Hagrid, and he told me the fog and the smell come from gas in the ground. Under the mossy grass lie large deposits of sulfur and huge quantities of iron. No animals are to be seen, according to Hagrid in my first year many of the denizens of the forest are quite adept in hiding from you; just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean there aren’t there.

The forest gets thicker and the air increasingly darker as we walk further into the woods, the fog eventually disappearing. The ground is covered with snow, our feet crunching in it as we follow the blonde Slytherin farther and farther into the darkness.

“Perhaps we should tell the headmaster,” Hermione whispers in my ear and my skin prickles where her warm breath touches me.

“No, not until we know what illegal activity he’s up to.” My voice is soft but stern, leaving no space for arguments. I just know he’s up to no good, he never is.

“Thought you wanted no part in this chosen crap,” Hermione mutters more to herself and I smirk.

“Oh, this has nothing to do with being chosen and everything to do with our mutual hatred,” I reply as my eyes are glued to the tall, slim figure of Draco Malfoy.

Of course, me and Malfoy, we loathe each other, always have but it’s more personal this time. For weeks now I know that Snape swore an Unbreakable Vow for this little punk, might even die from it because he has no intent to kill the headmaster. I place the blame solely on Malfoy; the little shit is constantly messing up my life. By being a jerk, by existing, and now by threatening someone I feel more for than anybody else. I adore Ron or Hermione; I love Remus or Molly but Snape— Snape’s mine. I have no intention of just losing him, now that he let me in.

“Did you have a chance to research Unbreakable Vows?” I ask Hermione quietly as we step over a thick branch lying over the little path we are now following. Fortunately, Malfoy stopped wrecking through the thicket and instead decided to follow a path like a normal person.

“I did but there is not much literature on them,” Hermione whispers back. “I found them mentioned in two books and one was just a passing reference.”

“That’s… unfortunate.”

Hermione sighs. “I give it another go in the restricted section tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Mione.”

She rolls her eyes but I can see she appreciates the acknowledgements. “There must be something there,” she mutters to herself. “I can’t believe this isn’t covered in any of the books.” She sounds personally offended by the library failing her for the first time and I know she keeps looking. Hermione always does.

The thicket clears and the trees finally let in some of the light from above. We must have walked for several minutes and I sincerely hope Malfoy gets a move on. For whatever he plans to do. I just hope I catch him in the act.

As we get closer to the edge of a clearing I watch Malfoy step out from the tree line. The sudden light blinds him for a moment and he freezes until his eyes adjust to the brightness. I hold my arm to signal my two friends that we better stop here, behind a tree. We have an excellent view of the clearing and Malfoy, who now zeroes in on whatever he came here for.

_Byron_. I knew it. My heart soars with delight and validation as I inch a little closer to them, eager to make out their conversation. Byron leans against a tree, his brown hair falling to his shoulders and his blue eyes on the young Slytherin standing only mere inches from him. Fragments of sentences drift over as they talk.

“…glad you could make it, Draco.” Byron looks pleased, his eyes almost glowing as he stares at Malfoy. I can’t make out the blonde’s face but I can hear him talk, softly and there is something in his voice, desperation that sounds so unlike him, that I shortly wonder if he is an imposter.

“…need your help…. going to kill them… end of my rope.” Malfoy sounds whiny, which is no real surprise but there’s something else, perhaps an understanding of consequence for the first in the little lord’s life. I can’t say I feel sorry for the git.

“….can help you… need to trust me.” Byron reaches out a hand and brushes over Malfoy’s cheek, almost tenderly. The sight turns my stomach and I inch closer to make out more of what they say. If I can only prove that Byron is involved with Malfoy and the Death Eaters, perhaps even Voldemort’s right hand, I can present my findings to Dumbledore and he’ll finally make Byron disappear.

“I do.” I am so close now that I can make out the expression on Byron’s face, can see the way the skin around his eyes crinkles as he glances at his counterpart. Malfoy looks miserable. “You know that Byron but I don’t know how much longer I can bear it. They’ll die if I mess this up.”

“You need to decide where your loyalties lie, Draco.” Byron sounds gentle, his voice drifting with the wind. “Nobody else can.”

“I know.” Malfoy’s voice almost breaks and he leans forward, pressing his face against the velvet coat Byron is wearing, in a mockery of the way I do the same with Snape. “I am scared,” he whispers into the man’s chest and Byron drags his hand through the boy’s blonde hair.

“We are all the masters of our destiny,” Byron says softly. “Whatever you decide, I am here for you. Always.”

Behind me, the sound of a twig snatching interrupts the eerie silence of the clearing loud as a cannon and I cast Ron an annoyed glare. The redhead pulls a face but shrugs. Malfoy flinches as he hears the sound and pulls away from Byron.

“I need to go,” he mutters and then spins around to chase out of the forest as if the hounds of hell are after him.

Before I can react, tell Ron and Hermione to get the hell out of here, Byron disappears from the spot, without a sound, only to reappear in front of us, his massive body blocking the way out. His blue eyes show the usual sentiment of irritation as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I should have known it was you.” His lips curl downward. “You are one of the most annoying people I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet.”

“That’s rich,” I spit back, making no effort to hide the animosity I feel. “Coming from you, going behind the headmaster’s back, being in cahoots with Voldemort.”

There’s now malicious amusement on Byron’s even face, as he curls up his lips. “You should not get involved in matters that are none of your business, Harry,” he says, his voice cold and unbothered that Ron and Hermione are standing next to me. “I knew you were trouble when you couldn’t stop pestering Severus, but there’s no need to prove to me continuously, why you shouldn’t be trusted.” He leans over, so close that for the first time I can make out his scent, spicey, warm, not at all repulsive. “I got it the first time.”

“Fine.” My voice is shaking with anger as I stare at his handsome face, his silky hair that looks as if every strand has been painted by a maestro. “Then I am sure you’ll don’t mind if I report your fraternization with the enemy to Dumbledore?”

Byron chuckles, no warmth in it. “Go back to your mate, Harry, and leave the grown-up things to those older and wiser than you. You don’t want me as your enemy, surely you must know how insignificant you are in comparison to the big picture.”

I squint my eyes, my gaze taking in the haughty face, the cold eyes, and the unbearable power radiating from the man in front of me. It takes all my effort to not take a step back, to face this creature. I never faltered in front of Voldemort, so I am not going to start now.

“If I am so insignificant and you are so bloody above us all, why don’t you just wipe my mind, so that I can’t rat you out.” I know I am playing with fire but this man has been annoying me from the first time I met him, with his air of superiority.

Something changes in Byron’s face, his features turn sharper, the ridges of his face more are strangely pronounced. A strange glow fills his eyes as they turn from the brightest blue to almost black, hostile in the way they glower down on me. He leans forward, his shoulders broader than a moment ago, a barely suppressed vigour in his body as he bares his impossibly long, sharp teeth protruding from his mouth.

“How dare you?” His voice is no louder than a moment ago, and yet the force of his words, the immense power with which they are spoken, makes me finally reel back. He inhales, closes his eyes shortly, and then when he opens them, they are back to his normal blue. His face shifts, his features lose their edges, getting softer, more human. The knot in my stomach loosens as I stare up at him. “If you knew the first thing about me, you would understand how deeply your words offend me, Harry. The sanctity of a creature’s mind, even as insignificant as yours, is sacrosanct and I never would violate that. How typical for an ordinary wizard to expect the worst from one of my kind, how narrow your minds are.” He turns away, his body losing some of its tension.

I feel guilty at that, those words so alien to me. I’d never looked down on any of the creatures I encountered, not Dobby, not Firenze, I always treated them with the respect they deserved. I want to stammer out an apology, but my anger stops the words from tumbling from my lips. I am not in the wrong, Byron is helping Malfoy, someone who I know wants to kill the headmaster. The person who by default, with a bloody Unbreakable Vow, puts my mates’ life in danger. I open my lips, to tell Byron how wrong he is, only for him to brush me off. He raises his hand, makes a short gesture and my mouth is locked. This feels worse than langlock, impossible to resist.

“I tire of you,” he states, his face back to being unreadable. “We have nothing more to say to each other,” he says, his eyes devoid of emotion. Cold as ice. Then, he raises his arms, the air begins to shimmer around him, a sudden tension in our vicinity. I can feel Hermione pulling me back as I watch Byron, consumed by flickering shadows, lift from the ground, and then blazing away, up, up through the canopy, and then gone.

“Bloody hell.” Ron is the first to break the stunned silence, all of us staring into the blue sky, mouth agape. I can feel the spell fading from me as soon as Byron disappears from sight and rub my throat that feels sore.

I nod, turning to where we came from. “Let’s leave.” Quietly, no further encouragement needed, Hermione and Ron follow me, over the small path, through the thicket until we are free from the woods. The air is instantly lighter, a huge load falls off our shoulders as we walk back to the castle, without another word spoken. Only, once we are back on the path, getting closer to the entrance, does Hermione lookup.

“He’s a vampire,” she says quietly. “I’ve been researching them till you told me about your strange reaction to Professor Snape.” She shudders and then wraps her arms around her body. “He must be one of the elders, extremely powerful and usually incredibly reclusive. We are lucky he didn’t just evaporate us.”

Ron harumphs as we climb the steps to the main entrance. “You’ll say? That guy is bloody creepy, who acts like this?” His blue eyes flicker with the memory. “He’s mental, treating kids like that.”

“I wonder why he’s here?” Hermione thinks aloud as we cross the entrance hall.

I shrug. “He is helping Voldemort.” I stop in the middle of the space, making up my mind. “I need to talk with Snape. I’ll catch you in class.”

The dungeons are deserted as I walk up to Snape’s door, the snake silent and unmoving on his door. The door springs open and I step inside, finding Snape still at his desk, grading homework. He looks up when he hears me, his eyes warm as he takes me in.

“Harry, what are—” He stops when he sees my expression, pushes himself up from his chair, and is by my side in an instant. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me close. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says and steers us to the sofa. It’s soft and cosy and slowly the feeling of paralysis falls away from my body. I inhale, shudder, and then lookup.

Snape’s eyes are filled with concern, he gently brushes my hair back with his elegant fingers. I shudder again and close my eyes.

“What happened?” He sounds calm, solid as a rock and I press my face against his chest.

“I followed Malfoy into the forbidden forest.” My voice sounds small, frail, still reeling with the way Byron demonstrated his strength, the force of his body. _He could have crushed me._

“Are you alright?” Snape looks down, his eyes so worried that I nod with a soft smile. _I am safe here._

“I am fine. I just had a nasty encounter with Byron, that’s all.”

I can see Snape is surprised, his forehead wrinkles as he frowns. “Byron? He was here?”

“In the forest, talking with Malfoy, offering to help him.” I pull away only slightly, to look into Snape’s black eyes. “Do you have any idea what they are up to?”

“I have not.” Snape’s frown deepens and I can see he’s contemplating everything. “I didn’t even know he was in the castle today.”

“Well, technically he wasn’t,” I reply, resting my head against Snape’s chest again. It’s firm and warm, and I don’t want to leave. “He’s a vampire, isn’t he?”

Snape sighs. “Do I want to know how you figured it out?”

“Hermione did. She started researching creatures when I mentioned weeks ago how drawn I was to you.” I peek up, my face finally losing the tension. “And you to me.”

Snape’s lips curl. “That I am.” He sighs. “You should stay away from him, Harry. While I don’t think he’d ever purposely harm you, he nevertheless is no ordinary wizard.” He stares at me, his gaze almost pleading. “Promise me you stay out of it! I’ll look into the matter but I need to know you are safe.”

I can hear the bubbling fear in his voice, the sound of it warming my heart. “Alright,” I say quietly and I can feel him relax. “But only if you keep me up to date. No more secrets.”

Snape bows his head. “No more secrets.” He sounds relieved, his voice back to his normal rough tint.

I return to where I was, snuggled up to him, revelling in the strong arms that hold me. “You are one too.” It’s no question, but Snape nods then sighs.

“It’s complicated. I am nothing like Byron but yes, in the strictest sense of the word, I am a vampire.”

“And I am your mate.” Again, no question but I can hear Snape’s warm chuckle.

“That you are.” He pulls me close. “My mate.” The words run through my body, caressing every crevice in my soul as they pass through.

“Will you tell me the rest of it?” I ask and then yawn.

Snape exhales. “Give me a little more time and I swear everything will be revealed.” I turn my head, look at him and then nod. He’s still a flight risk after all.

“Fine, but no more secrets after.”

Snape nods. “No more secrets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the cat's out of the bag now (most of you guessed correctly), Snape is a Vampire. 😊 Expect loads of Vampire shenanigans in the future


	28. Turning Tides and Mancunian Musings of a tired Werewolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. I am still here, been chipping away at this very long chapter of close to 12000 words, over the last weeks. Exams are coming up in my part of the world, and the next four weeks will be stressful. I still try to get some writing done, but if you don't hear from me, that's why. Expect regular updates to resume in the middle of February. 
> 
> Hopefully, the new year finds you all well and now, on to the new chapter. 💜💜

This evening, it never crosses my mind to not meet Snape down in his sitting room. I mean, I could have met him at the Burrow or at least at our departure fireplace, but the urge to see him, to spend time with him is as pressing as always. As I wait for him to get ready in his bedroom, I try to keep from peeking everywhere, trying to see into every nook and cranny. For some reason, I’ve always been too busy to look around but now I squint my eyes as I try to make out a couple of photos on the mantlepiece.

“You can go over and have a look, you know?” Snape’s voice startles me, and I choke on my saliva. Bending forwards I attempt to stifle my coughs. A glass of water is pushed into my hand and I take a grateful drag from it, the cool sensation of the drink calming my throat. Looking up, I find Snape staring down at me, his eyes warm and his lips curled. “Better?”

I nod. “Yeah, you gotta stop doing that.”

“Why? It’s fun to see you unravel, Potter.” His face shows just the barest hint of a sneer, the look so familiar that I mock-glare at him. It’s not very convincing these days, I am afraid.

“It would be a shame if Molly zeroed in on you tonight and tried to stuff you with so much food that you’re sick for the weekend.” I wink and Snape snorts in reply.

“That woman is a menace.” He turns to the coatrack and shrugs into his thick woollen robe. “Do I look as if I starve to death if I stop eating for a second?”

“As a matter of fact, you do,” I reply and put on my thin jacket. We are using McGonagall’s floo after all, so I won’t need something heavy to protect me against the cold. Plus, I am a wizard and learned warming charms several weeks ago from Snape.

Apparently, most wizarding children learn these and other household spells from their families, so it isn’t a part of Hogwarts’ curriculum. There seems to be a class for muggleborns in third year teaching most of these spells, but since I’m not considered muggleborn, I was never invited. I always meant to ask Hermione if she attended, but it’s a given that if there is a lesson to attend, a spell to learn, a book to devour, Hermione’s in.

“I do not.” Snape finishes the last buttons of his robe and then moves to the door. We both step outside, the warding charms resealing behind us. “I am a perfectly ordinary wizard weight-wise, not exceedingly fat but no protruding rib bones whatsoever.”

I press my hand to his side and feel his muscles flex under my palm, the softness of flesh over harsh bones and wiry sinews. It’s strictly not necessary for me to touch him up, because I at least got to see part of the naked Slytherin in several of our make-out session, but I indulge us both. “Well, you might be right,” I say as we walk along the corridor. Snape doesn’t deem my confirmation worthy of an answer, instead, he stalks down the corridor and I hurry along. “I intend to have a glass of wine tonight,” I add suddenly as we reach the stairs leading up into the main hall. “I am only five months shy of my 17th birthday, so I should be allowed to enjoy some alcohol if I have to suffer through a boring meeting.”

“I warned you, but you didn’t listen.” Snape doesn’t sound particularly sorry about my predicament, instead, he casts me another sneer.

I decide to ignore his antics, and instead continue my line of reasoning. “I mean, I have loads of firewhiskey with you.”

Snape huffs. “Please, do not open me up to vicious attacks from that woman,” he says, his face pained. “Molly can be merciless when it’s about one of hers.”

“You’ll be fine.” I brush off his exception, not for one minute bothered that Molly Weasley would seriously harm him. And if she gives him a hard time because of it, just a tad, then that would be perfectly reasonable payback for his constant nagging.

“I doubt you’ll have much success convincing the Weasley matriarch to provide alcohol on her turf,” Snape says several minutes later, as we climb another set of stairs. He sounds almost gleeful. “Especially for you.”

“Why is that?”

“Have you seen her face when you had a sip from my wine last week?” Snape’s voice clearly indicates his assumption I did not. “Not a chance in hell.”

Even if I don’t particularly like it, I must admit he might be perfectly right. The only reason Molly didn’t jump over the table, ripped the glass out of my hands and send me off to bed was the fact that Dumbledore sat next to me. Not even Moody would have been able to keep her on her seat, the way she looked ready to burst with motherly affection and the burning desire to protect. The headmaster must have been puzzled with the reproachful glare she sent his way after— he was too busy listening to a thousand pointless reports while probably getting wasted. Hopefully, otherwise, I'd question his sanity.

“Perhaps,” I admit, and I can hear Snape’s huff. Smug bastard. He always does that, be perfectly reasonable, logical, self-righteous, and never let you hear the end of it. Fortunately, for him, I can overlook those glaring character flaws and instead concentrate on his delectable body, throaty snarls and warm eyes. The rest of our journey is spent with us casting glares at each other, Snape’s lips curling as he revels in my concession. Everything is a battle of wills to this Slytherin, every argument one that needs to be settled. Usually in his favour. Honestly, he’s lucky I am clearly the bigger man, easily admitting my faulty reason if it occurs. When we are at McGonagall’s office, I lean over, just as Snape knocks on the door.

“I just have to become an alcoholic on your turf, Snape next time I am over and suck on your prick,” I whisper and watch him sputter just as Minerva opens the door.

“Severus?” She frowns, her dark eyes crinkle as she stares at her colleague. “Are you alright?”

“Of course, I am perfectly alright, woman,” Snape snarls, glares at her, then for good measure casts me a threatening scowl, only to stalk into the cramped office.

McGonagall’s lips thin but she decides to let it go for now. Probably a smart move because that man is a vindictive prick if I ever saw one. I grin at her as I cross the threshold.

“Good evening, Professor.”

“Good evening, Mr Potter,” she replies, her face clearing a bit, even if she continues to throw me and Snape suspicious glances.

Inside the comfortable office space, I already find my two best friends and Ginny waiting next to the fireplace. Ron honestly looks as if he stumbled out bed after a nap, hair askew, shirt half-arsedly tugged into his jeans and the jacket he’s thrown over is inside out. Ginny is wearing jeans, a flowery tunica and a slight scowl as she glares out the window, her soft features twisted in an expression of gloom. There’s probably going to be an argument later and I intend to stay out of it. I’ve seen Ginny and her mom fight before. Looks like a tornado wrecking whatever room they are in.

But Hemione takes the biscuit. She’s dressed in a smart pair of trousers, a blouse carefully tucked into the waistband, and her hair is for once tidily set into a French braid, running down her back. In one hand she clasps her satchel, likely filled with parchments, ink well, quills, her extensive notes she made over the last 24 hours and on her right arm she balances several thick, faded books.

“Hey.” I pointedly look at the books and Hermione blushes.

“I want to come prepared,” she says, her face set in determination. For Hermione prepared means all of that, I get it but it’s hilarious. I barely keep a grin off my face as I keep staring at her, my lazy-arse self dressed in my old, faded jeans and a henley shirt that clearly has seen better days.

“I already assured Ms Granger, none of this is needed for an ordinary Order meeting,” McGonagall says, her mouth thin and her expression clearly showing her frustration with stubborn Hermione.

Crossing the room, Snape snatches a tome from Hermione and leaves through it. “Legal texts, Ms Granger?”

The flush on her cheeks intensifies but her lips are set in a way that tells me from personal experience that nobody can convince her that all these efforts on her part have been too much, instead, from her perspective her preparation was rather half-arsed and she would have loved to do more.

“This might be useful, probably depends on what is discussed tonight,” she mutters, her gaze almost frantic.

McGonagall clearly wants to set her student straight and take the mountain of books away from her, but Snape cuts her off, dropping the book back onto Hermione’s arms, that struggle under the sudden weight. That pile of books must weigh a ton but my best friend is not deterred.

“Let her,” Snape says, his face clearly showing this matter is closed. “At least, somebody takes this seriously.” His baleful glare into my direction a clear indication that what he skips is, _unlike you Potter._

I just roll my eyes, but Hermione puffs her chest, casting Snape a grateful look. He doesn’t know it yet, but in this instant, he made a trusted friend, a supporter in one of the brightest witches of her generation. I would have smirked at him, perhaps shot back a cheeky reply but I can’t. Hermione and Ron know about our relationship, my head of house probably suspects but Ginny doesn’t, and I promised Snape to keep it a secret. I am loyal to a fault and my word is my bond. Snape knows and his lips curl again, in this half-smirk that I adore so much.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Hermione replies with a haughty voice. “At least someone understands.” She stares at the rest of us as if we are too stupid to get it, unlike her new best friend Severus Snape. “You don’t happen to know any specifics about the Wizengamot’s precursor during Merlin’s age and how its setup relates to beginning pureblood domination of later times? The literature is very sketchy here at Hogwarts, clearly, it would be different if perhaps I had access to a proper library, with more in-depth texts and a proper classification system. It’s a nightmare finding anything, you are probably aware of that yourself.” All of that was out of her mouth in under ten seconds, her voice was quick and pronounced and Snape looks as if he’s already over it but finds it difficult to curb Hermione’s enthusiasm. So, he nods and then turns to the fireplace.

“We should leave,” he announces, his voice allowing for no argument. That seems to startle Ginny out of her glum contemplation, and she nudges her brother, who’s almost falling asleep against the wall.

McGonagall looks just as over it, us, Hermione’s studious nature and the evening in general and so she affirms with a sharp nod, pointing to the fireplace.

“Certainly, Severus. Lead the way if you will.”

Without a look back, he throws powder into the fireplace, clearly announces his destination and disappears into a flurry of green fire. Hermione casts us another baleful glare and follows her new bestie into the floo network.

“Eh, did I miss something?” Ron sounds puzzled as he steps to the fireplace with me.

“As a matter of fact, you did,” I reply quietly with a smirk. “The great bonding of Hermione and Severus when he took her side over mine.”

Ron’s blue eyes glint with understanding and he grins as he grabs the powder out of a porcelain cup.

“Poor sod, doesn’t know yet what he’s just got tangled up in.” He is whisked away with his face still lit up by humour.

“What are you two squabbling about?” Ginny hisses as she gets ready to travel.

“Nothing,” I reply as I gently push her towards the floor. “Boy’s stuff.”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Prats.” She is gone in stormy green before I can chuck back a reply.

Deciding the evening should be interesting, if for nothing else than watching Hermione set her hooks on Snape in a display of gratitude and superiority, I grab some floo powder, say my destination and then disappear into the floo network. Stumbling out of the fireplace into the cosy living room of the Burrow, I feel a steady hand keeping me upright. Snape’s warm fingers stay on my shoulder a tad longer than necessary, the fingers curling around my arm.

“Most children master floo travel before they come to Hogwarts,” Snape mutters into my ear and his warm breath tickles my neck.

“Very funny,” I whisper back, not at all offended. My hand curls around his for mere seconds, only to drop it when Molly Weasley descends on me.

“Harry, my boy, so good to see you.” She pulls me into a warm hug, her flowery dress ruffling as she presses me to her chest. “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” I smile up at her and she beams back at me.

“Wonderful. You look a bit peckish but there’s plenty of food for everyone, don’t you worry.” Turning to her wayward son Ron, she frowns and with a wave of her wand his hair sets, his shirts tucks into his jeans properly and then straightens for good measure. “Honestly, Ron.” She manages to sound loving and disappointed in equal measures as she undoes her own work by ruffling his hair again. “If I weren’t with you all the time.”

Fred and George appear next to us, both of them dressed in velvet suits in a deep purple and bright green shirts, looking every bit the mad scientists and wizarding businessmen they are.

“Poor Ron,” Fred starts, ruffling his brother’s hair so it looks worse than when he came here. “Always so hamstrung by his lack of effort.”

“And spell proficiency,” George adds with a put-upon sad look. “But at least Ronnikins got a girlfriend now, quite a pretty one I might add.”

“Far above his means, really.” Fred clucks his tongue. When he sees Hermione’s glare, he flashes her a bright smile. “Much too smart for such an oaf. If only you had waited for a wizard of my calibre,” he remarks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “I could lay down the world in a masterful explosion at your dainty feed, Hermione.” He sighs deeply, and George pats his shoulder in sympathy.

“We both missed out on that one, brother.”

Hermione looks torn between righteous indignation and mirth and in the end chuckles softly. “Probably confounded when I chose him,” she says with a grin.

“Obviously, my dear future sister-in-law,” George agrees, flanking her on the other side. “Or you would have seen the much more impressive offer of me and my brother.”

“Could you stop your yammering for one minute?” Ginny rolls her eyes and glares at her brothers.

“Why would you say that?” Fred smirks. “Still upset because you need to sit at the kiddie table once the grown-up part of the evening starts?”

“Piss off.” Ginny’s cheeks are flushed in anger as she flops down on the sofa, glaring at the ground.

“That was mean, brother.” George sits down next to his sister and tickles her side. “No pouting, you know the rules.”

Ginny tries to glare but then giggles and slaps her brother’s hands away. “Stop that!” Fred lets go of Hermione and sitting down on the other side of his sister, begins to assault her with vicious tickles himself. Ginny eventually howls with laughter and throws up her arms.

“I surrender!” Fred and George share a knowing look and then turn to their sister.

“And?”

Ginny props herself up and rolls her eyes. “And I admit you are right, and I am wrong.” She huffs. “Prats.”

They both ruffle her hair, while she tries to slap their hands away. “See, that wasn’t so bad, Ginnity.”

“Do you two ever grow up?” Ginny sounds more amused than anything.

Now the twins look offended. “We resist such notions—” Fred starts with a solemn face.

“—With utmost defiance,” George ends and they both nod vehemently.

“Growing up, listen to that woman.” Fred shakes his head.

From the kitchen, I can hear Molly as she calls for everyone to have dinner and while obviously, not everyone is here yet, we oblige. A plate of turkey and greens, with loads of roasted potatoes and a steaming pot of gravy awaits us as we sit down. I manage to snatch the seat next to Snape and brush his thigh under the table as I bend down to lace my shoes. Snape only grunts softly but he keeps his gaze on the table, ignoring me.

Dinner is a low-key affair, with loads of food, people engaged in conversations with their neighbours. Snape chats with Sprout about a new harvest of Belladonna, that’s supposed to be ready in about two days. Next to me, Ron seems to have woken up, now happily stuffing his face with food and humming in between bites. Figures. Hermione chats with Fred and George, casting longing glances at Snape, who sits only two seats from here. Clearly, she’d like to pester him some more about wizarding law and court proceedings, but he doesn’t turn his head and pretends to be engrossed in his conversation with his fellow head of house.

Dumbledore still hasn’t arrived, but nobody mentions it, so perhaps this is normal? Maybe he’s always late, constantly involved in some quest or scheme or such? Also, Moody, Tonks and Shacklebolt are missing, but I caught Arthur mentioning their absence to Flitwick. They had been called away on a mission on extremely short notice, only able to send a quick patronus to the Burrow to let everybody know they’d join as soon as they are done. Both wizards appeared to worry that another mission could possibly mean additional attacks on the wizarding world.

On the other side of the table, Ginny and her mother are squabbling again about whether Ginny should be allowed to attend Order meetings. My redheaded friend clearly thinks so, but Molly’s adamant she’s too young to be fighting in the Order.

“How old do you think I am?” Ginny presses out, clearly upset. “I am no child anymore and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”

“I don’t care what you think Ginevra, I won’t just throw you into a war, when I still need to protect you,” Molly counters, her face equal parts anger and pain. “You are much too young to face things like violence and death.”

“I faced Death Eaters last year, in the ministry,” Ginny hotly replies, her face contorted in quiet fury. “I fought them momma, and I persevered.”

“If I had been asked before you left, I’d have told you the same as I do today— you are my daughter, and I am going to protect you, no matter what.” Molly’s tone is final and her eyes are misty as she turns away.

“Enjoy the innocence of childhood for a couple of more months,” Bill says quietly, gently clasping his sister’s hand. “It will be gone soon enough, and you might wish to go back then.” He pulls a face. “I know I sometimes do, reckon we all would.”

It’s clear that Ginny is far from convinced but she drops the subject, staring into her plate and pokes her food. Fred watches her unhappy expression and then leans over, a wide grin on his face.

“I might have a solution,” he suggests, his voice low. I have to strain to make out what he’s saying. “We, George and me, might or might not have an extendable ear somewhere in this house, and perhaps, hard to say, possibly, likely, it might end up in your possession during the evening. Now, you might or might not find that this would allow you to follow the meeting even from the confines of your bedroom, hard to say.”

Ginny giggles. “How convenient.” She pokes her brother and then smiles at him fondly. “You are a good one, Fred.”

He winks at her and then turns back to his food as if this conversation never happened. Ginny looks up and winks at me, clearly in a much better mood. I return the wink fondly, glad Fred and George cheered her up a bit. Over the years, I remember the silent fury I felt over being locked out of conversations, having vital information hidden from me until it was almost too late and how so many of my rash, headfirst decisions were only spurred on by my lack of knowledge. I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.

Suddenly, the fireplace flares to life, and Arthur and Molly share a look. Both of them rise, surreptitiously drawing their wands and walk over into the living room, Bill and some other Order members in tow. Somebody can be heard stepping out of the fireplace, much more gracefully than me, no shuffling, no sounds of barely catching one’s footing.

“Good evening.” The headmaster’s voice sounds quite cheery and jovial and then, “Ah thank you, Molly. How kind of you to help an old man out of his coat.” A short silence. “Here, let me help you to speed things along,” and then his coat passes the kitchen door to zoom to the cloakroom in the hallway, only to be followed by a fur hat, a muffler and gloves.

As soon as he steps into the kitchen, followed by Arthur and Molly, the old wizard beams at us, and sits down next to Snape.

“I apologize for my belatedness but I’m afraid matters took a tad longer than I anticipated.” He accepts the glass filled with red wine and takes a sip. “Lovely, thank you, Molly.”

Molly smiles and sits down again. “Please, headmaster, the food has been kept warm, help yourself if you are hungry.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stick to my wine,” he says kindly. “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me earlier today and I’d rather not take any chances.”

“I could get you a potion to settle your stomach, headmaster,” Snape offers, keeping his face void of emotion.

Dumbledore waves it away. “Thank you, Severus, but that’s not necessary.” They share a look and I have the distinct feeling that they’re having a silent conversation, one where Snape doesn’t agree with something, his lips curling down and thinning. In the end, the Slytherin shrugs and looks away, his black eyes showing just the barest hint of frustration.

“As you wish, headmaster.” Snape’s voice is his usual, but I can see he’s miffed. I cast him a questioning look, but he just shrugs and takes a hearty sip from his wine.

Remembering I wanted to have some too, I reach out to pour me a glass when I find my hand blocked by the tumbler filled with pumpkin juice that floated over so quickly that my fingers bump into it. Gazing up I find Molly tossing me a stern look as she moves the bottle of wine to the other side of the table. Clearly, she thinks I am a budding alcoholic and so I dutifully pour me some juice.

Snape doesn’t say anything, but his eyes, they sparkle with the satisfaction of being proven right and I snap my finger at his thigh under the table. Somehow, the evening started even worse than the last one, but I hardly mind. Could be due to the impossible wizard next to me, who gloats as I ignore him. We are probably a weird pair for most people to watch.

After trying for several minutes, Hermione finally catches Snape’s eyes and starts into a torrent of remarks about the inadequacy of the Hogwarts library and the general lack of sources from early wizarding society, only to instantly start a discussion about the strength of pureblood prejudice during the times of the first wizengamot, of course not stopping for a second to give Snape a chance to cut her off. He casts me a look filled with disbelief and then is clearly intent on interrupting the bushy-haired girl who leans over the table as she continues her argument when suddenly the walls of the house shake. It feels as if something heavy clashes against the outer perimeters of the house, only for then a white patronus in the shape of a medium-sized cat to barge into the room.

“Albus, drop the wards, we have dire news and need medical assistance,” Kingsley’s voice booms through the living room, the terror in it freezing everyone in their place.

Dumbledore raises his wand and a wave of physical force surges through the room, almost knocking me off my seat, only Snape’s quick hand steadying me enough to keep me upright. Some of the others, including Ron and Flitwick, are not so lucky and find themselves on the ground. Rising from his chair quickly, not at all moving like an old man, Dumbledore walks into the hallway, all of us scrambling to follow. We almost run into Moody, Kingsley and Tonks as they storm inside through the front door.

“Another attack on a village,” Moody presses out, face covered in cuts and his calloused skin looking burned at several spots. He limps as we all walk into the living and he comes to a stop in front of the headmaster, his magical eye turning to the window as if wanting to keep an eye on the hostile world out there. “Aethelney has been decimated, muggles and wizards alike,” he adds and then coughs out some soot. “One survivor, but it’s looking grim.”

Tonks growls and steps around him, a bundle of old, bloody rags in her arms. “We need a healer,” she says, her eyes hard as she glares at Moody. Leaning down and oh so gently she places the pile of tattered clothes on the couch and it’s then that I understand this is the sole survivor of the latest Death Eater attack. Dark curls spill from the blood-stained bundle and next to me Snape springs into action. I am gently pushed to the side and he bends over, mercifully hiding the grim sight from us. Molly gasps as she watches him carefully reveal the broken body.

“Oh Merlin,” she turns to us, her face filled with horror. “It’s a child.” Molly Weasley, the woman who usually stands like a rock between those she considers family and possible doom, my adoptive mother in all but legal certification, who never falters, never gives an inch if it means she can keep hers safe, now looks as if she peered into the depths of hell.

A horrified mutter breaks out in the room as Snape methodically peels away the girl’s ragged coat, his movements precise, detached, just as a healer should be. 

“I need towels, clean water and whatever household potions you can spare,” he says to a still frozen Molly, keeping his eyes on his charge. When the woman doesn’t react, he looks up and his voice is a tad sharper. “Now.”

His tone seems to shock Molly out of her catatonic state, and she whirls around, her eyes settling on Ron and the twins.

“Fred, George, go upstairs and bring me as many towels as you can carry. Ron, get me all the household potions from the kitchen, Ginny will help you to carry everything over.”

“I am mostly interested in blood-replenishing potions and perhaps some dittany,” Snape says as he gently turns the girl’s face so that he can have a look at a deep slash on her neck.

“You heard the man,” Molly snaps at her children and all four spring into action. “I get you the water,” she adds softly and then follows them out, her steps filled with determination.

“Over fifty dead,” Kingsley says, his eyes on the frail body of the little girl that is more dead than alive. My stomach turns as Snape peels the grimy cloth of her jumper away from the crusty skin and more blood begins to spill forward. “Ministry is already starting to brush it under the carpet, the clean-up procedure already in place.” Kingsley sounds almost broken, his voice filled with silent fury.

“She’s the sole survivor,” Moody adds quietly, his features hardened in the face of war’s harsh realities. “We didn’t dare to leave her there, for fear of—” he stops, a soft growl erupting from his throat.

“—For fear of the ministry trying to get rid of the only living proof of their ineptitude,” Kingsley finishes the former auror’s sentence, unwilling or perhaps incapable of sparing us the horrible truth.

His words hang in the room, resonating within the horror that each of us shares at this moment as we watch Snape heal the first, deep gashes, his hand steady as he casts one healing spell after another. From his pocket he produces several vials filled with potions and spells them inside his patient, all the while never stopping with his healing attempts.

“Ms Granger— fetch Poppy and tell her to bring as many potions and healing equipment with her as viable,” Snape orders and Hermione nods, her eyes filled with unspent tears. “Particularly potions counteracting dark curse damage.”

“Right away, Sir.” Hermione sounds shaken and moves as if on autopilot leaving the room.

“I better accompany her,” Sprout says as she follows her. “We can carry more with three pair of hands.” I can hear the floo come to life and then the tell-tale swoosh of somebody whisked away.

“Here, your water.” Molly has returned and hands Snape a bowl with fresh water. Behind her, Fred and George place towels on the sofa next to the little girl, careful not to startle anyone. Ron and Ginny return from the kitchen as well with two wicker baskets full of potion bottles, that they place next to Snape.

With one look he peruses the potion collection, then takes several dark red ones out and spells them into the girl.

“Potter, come here.” I startle from my place but obediently march over and kneel down next to him. The calmness radiating from his kneeling figure steadies my shaking hand and when he looks at me, the warmth in his eyes revives my frozen body. “Here, press your fingers on this,” he says quietly, and I quickly hold my palm against a wound on her throat that is spilling blood like a fountain. In seconds, my skin is covered with warm, thick blood and I press even harder. “Good, just keep on pressing,” Snape says as he closes a deep slash on the girl’s stomach with a precise wave of his hand.

I lose track of time how long I kneel there, next to Snape, pressing my hand against soft, torn skin and attempting to ignore the amount of blood that still seeps out. Eventually, I hear steps behinds me, a short gasp and then I am gently pushed to the side.

“It’s alright,” Poppy says, her voice gentle as she untangles my fingers from the wound. “I take it from here.” I reluctantly let go, feeling as if I am failing this girl, that can’t be older than six or seven. But the truth is, we all failed her, none of us are doing enough to stop the killing that will only get worse in the coming weeks.

“You did well,” Snape says quietly and I can feel my hand clean with a powerful charm. He then shares a grim gaze with the mediwitch. “Perhaps we should continue the rest somewhere remote. I stopped most of the bleeding, but we need to hurry. There is lots of inner spell damage.”

Poppy nods. “I agree. Molly, do you have a spare room where we can retire to?”

“Of course. This way.” They follow Molly out, the girl floating behind, her bloody curls falling to the ground and I want to run over, gently cradle them because the thought of this small child being hurt one more time breaks my heart. But of course, the thought is foolish, she has already been hurt in every imaginable way and her hair trailing behind her on the wooden floor won’t bother her.

Behind me, Ron and Hermione are standing to the side, his arms around her shoulder, and when my eyes meet Ron’s he casts me a sad smile. I walk over, trying to ignore the huge amount of blood on the flowery sofa, and step next to them as we stare out of the window. The darkness seems to want to swallow the house, it looks positively threatening but perhaps that’s just my subconscious telling me how freaked out I am.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks softly and I nod, gently brushing over her shoulder. Her books and satchel lay forgotten to the side and her hair looks a mess.

“As okay as one can be,” I reply and try to find some comfort in the fact that I am in the company of my two best friends. I can hear steps behind us and when I turn around, I see Molly walking over to Ginny who stands with her brothers next to us.

“Ginny dear,” she starts softly. “Please, go upstairs now, the meeting is about to start any minute.”

My eyes meet Ginny’s, and I can see the hurt in them as she takes in her mother’s words. By now, most of the fire is gone in them after the atrocities of the night, but her drooped shoulders painfully remind me of similar moments in my past, when grownups sent me to bed only to ask the impossible the next minute.

“Please, I want to help,” she says quietly, her eyes darting from Molly to Arthur in desperation. There’s a profound sadness in them, hurt at being treated like a child when Ginny has shown over and over again how truly courageous she is.

Bracing my shoulders, I walk over and face Arthur and Molly, two people I absolutely adore, who look at me with a strange expression of uncertainty. It’s obvious to see that none of them feel happy with their decision and perhaps I can relieve them of this burden, this impossible choice?

“If I may add something?” I ask and when Arthur nods tensely, I sigh. “I know you want to protect Ginny, just like you always wanted to protect me. From my grim past, my abusive relatives to the bleak prospect of having to fight a madman, so forgive me if my words sound anything but sympathetic. Love can do many things, but it can’t protect us from the harsh realities of the world. Ginny’s been abducted by Voldemort in her first year and just as my own fate is intertwined with Tom Riddle for the rest of our mutual existence, I feel hers might be as well.”

“War doesn’t ask for consent and once it starts, perhaps much sooner than we all prefer, none of the protections currently in place will offer any solace. Ginny fought Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, she’s been a part of Dumbledore’s Army since its inception and she is one of my truest, best friends. I’d never want to put her in harm, not in a million years but once this war starts none of us will have a choice anymore. Then, it is my deepest belief, the best possible way to keep her safe will be preparedness, not being shut out in a misguided attempt to protect her innocence.”

“I am not saying this to make light of your fears, of your deep, honest desire to keep all of us safe but because I truly believe it offers the highest chances of survival. I swear, I’ll always do my best to keep her safe, just like Ron, Hermione and all those I consider friends and family. But despite what the prophecy may say, despite what this scar on my forehead might suggest, nothing will abet my attempts more than every one of us being aware of what we are getting into. So please, for everybody’s sake and in light of Ginny’s proven valour, allow her to walk into the battle with wide-open eyes if you honestly want to protect her.”

It’s eerily quiet in the room as I hold Molly’s and Arthur’s gaze. I can see the pain my words have caused, I can see their unconditional love for me and how much they are struggling with all of this. Molly opens her mouth, but no words come out and then she simply turns her face to look at her husband. Arthur’s face has hardened with every word I’ve spoken and then he curtly nods.

“You are right Harry.” He doesn’t sound as if he particularly likes the truth in my words but he’s ready to make a painful decision. “Of course, you are. The war will rip all semblance of innocence away in mere weeks and there will be nothing you or us can do to change that. However little we might like the idea, Ginny is indeed mature enough to handle a meeting, if we expect her to fight in a couple of weeks.” He places a warm hand on my shoulder and another one on his daughter’s. “Just know that Molly and I will do whatever we can to protect you, all of you.”

Molly steps forward and wraps me and then Ginny in a tight embrace, her shoulders shaking with her sadness. “Children shouldn’t be fighting in a war,” she mutters and presses a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek.

I cast her a sad smile and then meet Dumbledore’s pensive gaze over the room. He stands at the faraway window, having looked out into the stormy darkness for most of the recent evening. He looks hardened, his blue eyes for once not sparkling but I see no resistance to my words or my intentions. Instead, I see faintly veiled approval and I know I can continue.

“If we are talking about people’s rights to witness the last steps into open war, then obviously Neville must join us too.” I keep my eyes fixed on the headmaster, who simply looks back, expecting me to make my case to the best of my abilities and then prepared to give a fair assessment. “He has as much right to be here as me, frankly. We both lost our parents to a prophecy, had to grow up without them and honestly, I am feeling great with Neville having my back. The sooner we end this secrecy, the better in my eyes.”

“Luna should be here too,” Ginny whispers next to me, casting me a desperate gaze. I get it. If Neville’s allowed to come, they might want to share matters freely between all three of them. So, I nod.

“Obviously.” I turn to Kingsley and Moody who sit at the table, looking defeated and so tired. I know it’s not directed at me, but on the day in general. “I vouch for both of them if needed.”

“That’s not necessary Harry.” Dumbledore sighs. “I fear a great many things changed tonight, so the greater our numbers, the better in the long run. I have absolutely no doubt that both Mr Longbottom and Mrs Lovegood will be excellent additions to our efforts.” He shares a look with my head of house, who nods curtly. “If you and Filius would be so kind as to collect them. I’d like for both of them to join our meeting right away.”

“As you wish headmaster,” McGonagall replies and it’s hard to say from her tone of voice if she agrees with his assessment or not. But her and Flitwick walk over to the fireplace and disappear into green flames.

“Headmaster.” Snape stands in the doorway, still as a statute, and I have no idea for how long. Has he heard my argument? Does he agree? It’s as always impossible to say with this masterful double spy.

“Severus! How is the girl?” Molly rushes over, grips his arm and stares up into his expressionless face fearful of the answer.

“She’ll survive.” I can feel the surge of relief in the room, can hear the collective sigh of catastrophe barely averted, for tonight at least. Snape doesn’t show much emotion in his tired features, but I can see the waves of relief rushing from his body. How I considered him an emotionless enigma only weeks ago is beyond me at this point. “Poppy and Auror Tonks will stay with her for tonight before we can consider moving her to a safer place.”

“No, of course, she must stay here, we have plenty of room.” Molly looks positively offended that anyone would suggest otherwise. “The little one is not safe with the ministry, as much as it pains me to say. We can keep her safe, with the additional wards put over the house recently, and nurse her back to health in the warmth of a family home.”

Arthur nods, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of having a child to spoil, to nurture. Dumbledore nods gravely after a moment of hesitation.

“She’ll be safe here,” he agrees with a firm voice and just like that the matter is settled. Molly casts him a grateful smile and quickly hugs her husband.

“We’ll still have most of Ginny’s old things, clothes and toys,” she states with a big smile. “It must be in the attic, in one of the boxes.”

“I’ll get everything assembled before we retire to bed,” Arthur promises his wife and returns her smile a little wistfully.

I can see Fred and George whispering to each other in the corner and they look positively gleeful to plot something again after everything that happened tonight. I can make out words like ‘toys’ ‘sweets from Honeydukes’ and ‘joke items’, ‘must cheer her up’ and I know the little girl is in excellent hands. The Weasleys will make sure she’s cared for, surrounded by a loving family and showered with toys and gifts and affection.

Behind me the fireplace flares to life and one rather dishevelled Neville and Luna, who smiles serenely, step out, both looking excited to be here. Ginny quickly walks over and gives both of them a hug, only to then bring them quietly up to speed. Neville’s eyes widen as he listens with growing horror and even Luna’s silver eyes dim with barely concealed sadness. I share a sombre look with Neville and then give the three of them some space.

While people move to the big table in the kitchen, I catch up with Snape and brush over his arm as I pass. He casts me a quick look, his eyes for one horrible, lovely second revealing the full force of emotions roaring inside this reserved man, and I would give anything to just approach him, wrap my arms around his torso and shower his tight features in a swell of kisses. Instead, I follow him into the kitchen and quickly claim the chair next to him, interlacing our fingers under the table, out of prying sight.

To my surprise, he doesn’t resist but closes his warm hand around mine and his thumb rubs slowly against the outer edge of my palm, the touch both maddening and reassuring. I can see his free hand make a small gesture and then my chair moves quietly closer to his without anybody else none the wiser.

“I rather make this short, considering the heart-breaking events of this evening.” Dumbledore’s voice is low, with a tint of sadness simmering in his every word. “As I already mentioned earlier, I consider this a declaration of war by Voldemort and I am more convinced than ever that the outbreak of open hostilities is closer than most of us believe. We will adjust our efforts accordingly.”

His eyes move from order member to order member as if wanting to impart the urgency of his remarks. “I have tried to reach out to as many wizards and witches as possible over the course of the last two years and the Order is certainly stronger than it was originally. However, troubling news reached me a while ago, of Voldemort reaching out to the forgotten ones of our society. Creatures of all kinds, most of them treated appallingly over centuries and therefore susceptible to promises of revenge. Some of them too far gone to understand that these promises are just means to an end. Therefore, I tried to offer amends, sending out ambassadors of our cause many of them. Hagrid has tried to reason with giants but to little avail so far. Remus has been sent on an errand to find and connect with werewolf colonies and has met harsh resistance. Nevertheless, after months of frustration and failure, he sent a patronus yesterday, informing me of making progress with a colony in Manchester. He advised being prepared for hosting an ambassador of this colony in due time. I’d also reached out to a vampire coven but was met with indifference and disdain, however, they agreed to send one of theirs to assess the situation. I tried to plead our case to the one named Byron in the last weeks, but alas, I fear they consider Voldemort our problem and of no relevance to themselves.”

“Bill tried to sway the goblins to help us but again our common history and our mistreatment of them stands in way of an agreement for the time being. I know you will stay on it, Bill, just like Remus and Hagrid will try their best. It is my sincerest belief that only if we unite large parts of our worlds, will we be able to defend it. The carnage Alistair and Kingsley have reported from this small Welsh village shared by muggles and magical folks alike is only a foretelling on what’s to come. Fenrir Greyback has joined Voldemort’s forces and mauls and devours however many victims he gets his hands on. Of course, we will try to ramp up our small attempts of providing protection where the ministry fails. However, our forces are limited, and I expect more bloodshed before long.”

“The next weeks will be hard but pale in comparison with what is to come. Stay strong, vigilant, keep your wits about you and keep those you love close. Know that I am doing all I can to assure the best possible tactical position for our side once the war starts. Do not falter, do not let the losses we are about to witness destroy your courage. Many different parts of our battle plan have been set up in the last weeks and soon it will be time to share all of it with you. I have another quest to fulfil tonight, one that is of utmost importance, so I need to bid my farewell for now. We’ll meet again next week at the usual time.”

He slowly rises from his char and everybody follows, faces hardened but reassured by the headmaster’s words. Dumbledore shares a gaze with Snape and I just know he will accompany him on this quest. I try to swallow the disappointment and instead, school my face into indifference. No need to make this harder on my mate than it already is.

Dumbledore watches us as we share a short gaze of barely concealed longing and I can see something shift in his eyes.

“Harry, would you accompany us to the door?” he asks as he puts on his mittens. “I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

I dutifully nod and slowly follow them outside into the coldness of the late February night. My jacket bumps into my back and Snape rolls his eyes as I put it on without protest. With a flick of the headmaster’s wand, the door gently closes behind us and then he pats my and Snape’s arm.

“Don’t take too long,” he says quietly and there is a hint of his twinkle in his eyes as he turns away and slowly meanders through the garden to the perimeters of the wards.

Snape wastes no time, and I am pulled into his warm arms, they wrap around my body, keeping me blissfully cosy as his body’s warmth engulfs me. Pressing my cheek against Snape’s chest I shudder when I feel his chapped lips nuzzle my neck. It’s been so long, an eternity it feels after this evening, that we felt each other, and I softly moan when his teeth graze the tender skin of my throat.

“Soon,” Snape growls as he pulls away and I know this is a promise.

“Soon.” My voice is tiny, lost as I stare into his dark eyes. His warm hand brushes over my cheek, gently cupping my jaw.

“I need to go.” I know he’s right, there’s no reason to fight this but I throw myself into his arms again, trying to harden myself so that I can let him go again. Snape sighs. “I could try to see you once our task is done,” he suggests, and his voice sounds hoarse. “I have no idea how long that takes, you could be long back in Hogwarts by that time.”

I nuzzle his neck, trying to secure his scent to memory. “Okay. I’ll wait.”

Snape pulls away almost reluctantly. “Try to get some sleep Potter, it might be a while.”

I nod and finally release him, already missing his warmth. Snape turns away quickly, clearly not a fan of tearful goodbyes, and follows the headmaster through the wards. I watch them disappear with a loud snap and then step back into the warm burrow. The hall is empty as I put my jacket back on the brass hook and, rubbing my arms in an attempt to get some warmth back into them, I walk into the living room.

Luna, Ginny and Neville sit on the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms and quietly whisper with each other. I can see a little squirrel peeking his little snout out of Luna’s sweater, sniffing the air. I am confused for a moment until I remember this must be her baby nargle. I share a soft smile with her and watch how Ginny carefully pets the little pet as it climbs over Luna’s arms.

“Harry.” Hermione and Ron sit on the other sofa and I walk over, only to be pulled into the bushy-haired witch’s arms and pulled down between them. I happily snuggle up to them, lapping up the warmth from their bodies. “Where you outside?” Hermione asks as she rubs my arms.

I nod happily and hum shortly. “Bloody cold outside,” I say, my lips shivering with the memory.

“What did the headmaster want from you?” Ron asks softly.

“It was a ruse so that I could say goodbye to Snape,” I whisper back.

“How considerate,” Ron says with a wink.

“What are you buzzing so suspiciously?” Fred asks as he and his twin sit down on both armrests of Arthur’s armchair.

“People might be thinking you are up to no good,” George adds as he leans against his brother.

“Ha, bloody ha.” Ron squints his eyes. “What have you been up to? Huddled over there and clearly plotting something.”

Instantly the twin’s faces get serious, all amusement gone. “We plan on getting more toys, sweets and some joke products for the little girl to cheer her up.” George sighs.

“Figures she might need it,” Fred adds softly.

“That sounds lovely,” Luna pipes up, her face lit by radiating light. “Perhaps, in time she might want to find some comfort with our little baby nargle, they are incedingly rare.”

“I am sure she will, Luna,” Neville says gently and pets the little squirrel that’s once again climbing over Luna’s sleeve up to her shoulder.

We sit together in silence for a while, finding comfort in the warmth of our friends and loved ones until Molly comes down and steps into the living room.

“Just checked on the wee one and brought Poppy and Tonks a little snack,” she says quietly.

“How is she?” Ginny asks.

“Sleeping comfortingly,” her mother replies. “She was badly hurt but Poppy is confident she’ll make a full recovery.” She sighs. “We should all get some sleep. I agreed with the headmaster you can all sleep here tonight and return to the school tomorrow. Neville and Harry will bunk with Ron, and Luna can share Ginny’s room if that’s alright with you all?”

We all dutifully not and get up, Fred and George say their goodbyes, promising to be back tomorrow and Molly gives each of us a long, warm hug. Neville looks slightly flustered but pleased and Luna smiles gently as she carries her baby nargle on top of her shoulder. My feet are tired and feel like lead as I climb the stairs I know so well. In Ron’s room, still eerily Cannon red, we find three beds and I instantly start to undress. I feel fatigued but know I will likely find little sleep until Snape returns, but promised to at least give it a shot. I have no idea how my PJs got here, but I silently put them on and then crawl into the warm cot. Ron and Neville do the same only a moment later, and we lie in the darkness for a while. The wind outside nips on the window, rattles the glass and somewhere far away a raven croaks in the distance.

“You know Neville,” Ron says quietly, “You can sneak off and bunk with Ginny and Luna. Down on the first floor, you can’t miss it.”

I can hear Neville sit up. “Isn’t that kind of rude? Your parents clearly want me to—“

“Rubbish. First, they don’t know you three are in a relationship, and second, they can’t be upset by something they don’t know.” It’s classic Ron-logic, doesn’t make much sense but I’d go for it. Hopefully, before long I get to spend a night in my lover’s bed, and if I need Ron’s logic to justify that, I’d be happy to.

Neville seems to consider his friend’s words and then sighs. “It’s not as if we— I mean we wouldn’t— not now, certainly— so it would only be for comfort—”

“Neville?”

“Yes.”

“Just go and don’t worry so much.” Ron sounds amused as he yawns loudly.

“Okay.” Neville quietly gets up and walks to the door. “Thanks, Ron.”

Ron yawns again staring at the ceiling. “Sure. Good night mate.” We listen to Neville open and close the door and then Ron turns on his side.

“So much growth from one little Weasley,” I joke softly and grunt when a pillow hits my face. I take it off and throw it back, hitting Ron on the chest. “Good night you berk.”

“Night, prat.” Ron chuckles. “Try to keep the wet dreams to a minimum.”

“Likewise.”

***

_It was long past midnight by the time Remus found a moment to close his eyes. The Mancunian sewer system was crowded with young werewolves, who usually were huddled together till long into the night, chatting, sometimes procuring some alcohol and generally being loud and noisy. It wasn’t as if he blamed them, how could he? They were young, mostly banished to this mouldy tube system and bored. The longer he stayed with them, the older he felt._

_It had taken months for him to admit that his attempts in Wales and the south of England had been a disaster. At every step had he encountered resistance and was faced with mistrust and sometimes open hostility. Far too often had he heard dangerous rhetoric spouted back at him, about revenge, about getting one’s dues, about unleashing the beast. None of his arguments, his pleas, his warnings had gotten through to any of them. They eventually stopped listening, ignored him as he eked out a miserable existence among them._

_A part of him, perhaps the part that was more beast than he liked to admit, or the empathic part, that could barely look at the misery they lived in, commiserated. Shunned by a society that feared, mistrusted them, they only repaid what they had been shown by their families, their friends, their ministry. None of them had friends like he had, the support in recent years, wolfsbane potions. Supplied by one surly professor, Remus never had the strength to defend from the same boys that saved his own sanity over and over during the years in school and beyond. Saved him from depression, from destitution, from the harsh judgement of a cruel and careless world. Why none of them had seen that they doled out the same treatment, the same judgement to a skinny boy with greasy hair and mismatched clothes, he couldn’t say anymore._

_It was so long ago, felt so distant these days that sometimes he could pretend it never happened, that they had acted with good reason, that Severus had given back as good as he got. But then again, those werewolves in Cardiff or Kent, they were doing the same and still he couldn’t condemn them. So how could he blame one small, lonely Slytherin? It didn’t matter in the end, all his posturing, all his denial fell apart as soon as he faced his old schoolmate again. Guilt gnawed away at him, always, more pronounced since he heard rumours, from other Order members, about Harry getting closer to his former nemesis. He always felt protective of James and Lilly’s little boy, perhaps unfairly more so once it came to Severus Snape as a potential threat. He could never say if his feelings were reasonable or the result of years of demonising the glum Slytherin. So, in the end, he didn’t do anything, just watched and tried to shut away the guilt and shame. Sometimes it worked, other times… well, perhaps being stuck here in this sewer system was his penance._

_“Do you want some, Remus?”_

_He looked up and found a young boy, around Harry’s age, with honey-blond hair and bright blue eyes staring down at him, where he slumped against the brick wall. The bowl filled with something warm smelled surprisingly delicious._

_“Did you cook again, Ash?” Remus asked as he accepted the hot bowl with a grateful smile. “It smells divine.”_

_Ash blushed a deep scarlet and flopped down, carefully balancing his own steaming bowl. “I did,” he said quietly, shyly as he started to ladle up some of the soup. “The spices you gave me last week helped making it almost edible,” he joked._

_Remus spooned some of it into his mouth and sighed. “It’s really good Ash. You should give yourself credit where it’s due.” He cast him a warm smile and was relieved when it was returned._

_Now close to four in the morning, their hideout had gotten quieter, with most of the younger ones retiring for the rest of the night. Most of them slept during large stretches the day and prowled the darkness for some food and company. Except for Ash. He steadfastly kept to a human rhythm, getting up early, usually long before the sun dawned, and retiring to bed before midnight. He seemed to have no trouble sleeping amidst the noise and hubbub._

_Remembering the date, Remus pulled from his dingy coat a vial filled with a pearly potion swirling in the magically padded glass bottle. Opening the lid, Remus pulled his face in anticipation of the vile taste and then drank a good amount, barely keeping from retching. He quickly closed the flask and tucked it back into his inner chest pocket._

_Ash watched the scene with vivid, bright eyes, curiosity and hesitation warring with each other until he couldn’t refrain from asking._

_“Is that the potion you talked about?” He sounded in awe, almost reverently staring at Remus as if waiting for him to transform into a frog or something equally absurd._

_“The wolfsbane, yes.” At least the young werewolf did not ridicule him like the other werewolves had, calling him a maimed beast. The ones in this colony were much younger and more open-minded, none of them more than Ash. They had spent many a night talking about the wizarding world and Remus sharing stories about Hogwarts. Ash had been turned at six, so had never received his letter, already having disappeared into the general werewolf population by then._

_“How does it taste?”_

_“Vile.” Remus spooned up some more soup to wash the disgusting taste off his mouth._

_Ash chuckled. “That bad, huh?”_

_“That bad,” Remus agreed and finished his meal. “But so worth it.”_

_“So, you truly stay yourself while you transform?” Ash sounded doubtful._

_“More or less. I mostly sleep through it, hidden in a bedroom somewhere. It’s still incredibly exhausting.”_

_“Aye.” Ash pulled his legs against his chest, having finished his soup a while ago. “I’ll never get used to that.”_

_Remus leaned back, trying to ignore the abrasiveness of the sewer wall in his back. It would be a short night again in all likelihood, because before long fights would break out amidst the other werewolves. There was never an obvious reason, just a general feeling of being cooped up for too long._

_“Do you remember the war I told you about?”_

_“I do.” Ash’s eyes were a faint glow in the darkness, but Remus’ sharp eyes could easily see him._

_“Soon we all will have to choose sides and I was hoping for some of you to decide to side with the resistance, the order.”_

_“I remember.” Ash’s voice was soft, as was the boy in general. Much too gentle and pliable for a werewolf of ten years. But there was a steely determination under the soft features, the gentle manners, that spoke of strength, of resilience far beyond what his years promised._

_“I will need to return and give a report to headmaster Dumbledore soon,” Remus said closing his eyes. “I’d like for you to accompany me this time.” When no answer came immediately, Remus used his one good argument, his bait. “I’ll make it worth your while and supply you with one month of wolfsbane, so you can try and see how you like it.” Ash was likely the only one of the werewolves who was tempted by this offer._

_He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and when he looked up, he met Ash’s gentle gaze peering up at him._

_“There’s no need for that Remus,” he softly said, his melodic voice, coloured by a slight Scottish brogue, almost drifting away before reaching Remus. However, as a werewolf, he had excellent hearing._

_“Nevertheless, you expressed interest in trying and the order is able to provide enough wolfsbane for both of us.”_

_Ash’s hand dropped from Remus’ shoulder and the boy closed his eyes. “Didn’t you say it was difficult to brew? And expensive?”_

_“That is true, but the order has the financial means to provide whatever potion is needed and includes a highly talented potions master that brews excellent quality potions of any kind.”_

_“That sounds—,” Ash hesitated and then sighed. “Wonderful. As I told you, Remus, I’d love to accompany you, if for nothing else than to meet the famous Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter.” Ash sounded again so eager that it almost broke Remus’ heart. All the atrocities of the last years had not squelched the young man’s love for the wizarding world._

_“And you will, very soon.” Remus clasped Ash’s arm and then closed his eyes again. Eventually, he sighed and cast a cushioning charm against the wall and then another to the ground where Ash had curled up. The boy squealed in surprise but then instantly purred with pleasure. Remus chuckled softly. “Let’s try to get some sleep, shall we?” He was aware Ash would rise again soon to start preparing breakfast._

_Ash yawned and nodded, as he snuggled against the cold stone floor that felt like a soft pillow now. “A little more sleep wouldn’t hurt,” Ash mumbled into the stale sewer air. “Night Remus.”_

_Remus cast him one last, tender look, adding a warming charm to both of them and then drifted into a restless sleep, plagued by packs of werewolves laughing at him and a sullen black-haired boy watching on._

***

I startle awake when a peculiar feeling fills my chest— adrenaline pumping through my veins, excitement rushing through my body. It takes me a moment to understand but then I rush out of bed, barefoot, dressed in my flimsy PJs, and hurry down the stairs. Turning to the left, I swiftly cross the kitchen, my naked feet pounding against the wooden floor as I rip open the door into the backyard, pushed forward by the intense delight in my heart.

Outside, the ground is muddy, my feet getting stuck in the slushy earth, the cold wind whips around my hair, nips at the thin cotton of my trousers and shirt, but I don’t feel it, nothing matters except getting closer. As I turn the corner of the house, I slam into something heavy, warm and would have fallen back into the mud, hadn’t strong arms kept me steady.

“Harry?” Snape looks down, his eyes glowing in the dark. “What are you doing out here in this—” he waves around the young man. “Attire?”

I throw myself against my lover, wrapping my arms around the older man’s torso. I giggle when I’m lifted into the air, levelling our difference in height and then warm lips press against mine Relief, desire, love, all surge through my body, until I am breathless, filled to the brim with emotions. It’s several minutes of blissful kissing later when Snape pulls away and starts to lower me to the ground, only to pull me up again.

“Why wouldn’t you at least put on some shoes?” he asks with a grimace and starts to carry me towards the backdoor, staring at me as if he considers me bat-shit crazy. I grin back, wrap my legs around his hips, probably smearing mud onto his robe, but not caring one bit.

The door is still open and inside warmth envelopes us both as I feel a cleaning charm rushing over my feet before I am put back on the ground. The door closes in our back and I beam at Snape, most likely looking like a bumbling fool.

“I missed you.” I am not even attempting to banish the fondness from my voice and giggle when Snape blushes. “So much.” I lean over and kiss him once more, my lips sucking on his greedily.

Snape pulls away again, clears his throat and takes a small step back. “Well, as nice as that’s to hear, I hereby report fulfilment of my duties and will return to Hogwarts now.” He tries but fails to look matter-of-factly.

Not deterred by his antics, I cross the short space separating us and wrap my arms around him again.

“Stay,” I whisper.

“I can’t possibly—” he starts but I interrupt him with another kiss.

“Just come upstairs and stay,” I repeat already pulling him through the dark hallway to the stairs. “We’ll come up with a good excuse tomorrow,” I add impishly as we walk up the stairs.

“What good excuse could there possibly be for me sleeping in your bed, Potter?” Snape asks heatedly while trying to keep his voice down and still docilely following me.

I wave it away, not caring one bit. After last night, everything feels so pointless, this secrecy, my heart bursting with my love and devotion begging me onwards.

“Details Snape, we take care of them tomorrow,” I whisper back and pull him up more stairs, his hand warm in mine.

I softly push open the door to Ron’s room and pull Snape inside. Before he can start another tirade of reasonable arguments, I begin to push his cloak down his shoulders and then swiftly unbutton his waistcoat.

“Is that Weasley?” Snape sounds a tad hysterical, bubbling laughter in his voice. “Lovely.”

I put his coat to the side and then climb into bed, pulling him after me. It’s tight, just barely enough space for both of us to lie halfway on top of each other but I happily snuggle up to his warmth.

“Harry?” Ron sounds sleepy, his voice is hoarse from unuse.

“Go back to sleep,” I whisper and press a soft kiss on Snape’s chest. I can hear my mate gasp and then soft fingers curl into my hair.

It’s quiet for a moment and shortly I think Ron does as he’s told for once but then the bright light of a lumos shines my eyes.

“Professor Snape?” Ron’s voice cracks as he stares at us from his bed.

“Mr Weasley.” Snape sounds composed, calm, as if it’s the most ordinary thing for him to sleep in my bed. I never appreciated him more than at this moment. “Could you be kind enough to refrain from blinding me with your wand-lightning charm?”

Ron blinks and then his wand goes dark. “Yeah, sure, no problem.” He sounds still half-asleep and befuddled.

“Thank you.” There is the barest hint of glee in Snape’s voice as he tucks in the blanket around us. “You should go back to bed,” he suggests, his voice exactly the same tone as if he suggests a slight adjustment of hand posture for a spell in class.

Silence. And then I hear blankets rustling as Ron climbs back into bed, perhaps giving up on this strange and twisted twilight zone he stepped into. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of Snape’s breathing.

“Just don’t give me detention,” Ron mutters already drifting back into sleep. “I might snore, you see.”

“He really does,” I add with a soft giggle.

Snape huffs. “That’s worth an imposition at most,” he whispers in my ear and I press my hand against my mouth to stifle my laughter. Snape sighs. “You are overwrought Potter. It’s been a long day. Try to get some sleep.”

The sound of Snape’s heart beating under his shirt lulls me to sleep as the wind picks up outside. It’s been a horrible day, I am overstrung and emotionally drained but here, underneath the blanket, I find some much-needed peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two personal notes:
> 
> \- Ash and the little girl are two more OC, hopefully, you'll like them.   
> \- I know I said many chapters ago in the comment section that Ginny and Luna would NOT be involved, but what can I say? My plans have changed, the plot was amended and hopefully, it'll work out. 💜


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